


Little Boy Blue

by ourdeceit



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Autism, Autism Spectrum, Autistic Will Graham, BAMF Will Graham, Bottom Will Graham, Canon Autistic Character, Child Abuse, Consensual Kink, Consensual Sex, Consensual Underage Sex, Daddy Hannibal, Drug Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Explicit Consent, Hannibal Loves Will, Hannibal is Hannibal, Hannibal is Not a Cannibal, Hannibal is a Tease, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jealous Hannibal, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Manipulative Hannibal, Manipulative Will Graham, Mild Kink, Mildly Dubious Consent, Poor Will Graham, Possessive Hannibal, Praise Kink, Psychoanalysis, Psychological Drama, Psychological Trauma, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Psychology, Sassy Will Graham, Someone Help Will Graham, Someone Helps Will Graham, Substance Abuse, Underage Kissing, Underage Sex, Voice Kink, Will Graham is a Tease, Will Loves Hannibal, Young Will Graham
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-02-12 22:15:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 47,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12969555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourdeceit/pseuds/ourdeceit
Summary: Will Graham does not stem from a loving and understanding family. It is just he and his mother, and his mother cares for prescription drugs more than she cares for her own son. When she gets caught in the wrong crowd, she faces the consequences for her greatest mistake - losing her son to a man she fears will do more harm to Will than her neglect did.But Hannibal Lecter makes an effort to care and understand more than Viola Graham ever did.





	1. Viola Graham

      He did not know her well.

     One could live with a person their entire strand of a pitiful life, but never truly understand why a person acted a certain way or carried on with certain habits.

     That was how William and Viola Graham lived.

     Will knew of his mother's unquenchable addiction to medications, but did not know how such an addiction came to be or how long it had carried on. He had his suspicions, as any curious child has. He assumed his mother had abused since before he was born, perhaps even as he was in her womb. Maybe it was prompted by the abandonment of his father, though such a subject was never spoken about and therefore not understood. She did not despise her child, but not did not care for him. He was a mere leaf in the wind - unnoticed, undisturbed, and gone within the next second during the next sweeping breeze. That was how Viola viewed her son.

     Now, as she lay with an empty bottle of oxycodone, half conscious upon the dingy couch with her son sweeping the broken glass, Viola was hardly aware that her child existed at all. She did a half hour ago when she came home angry and disturbed by the lack of respect her "boyfriend" had for her body. Viola threw a glass of water across the kitchen, it shattering against the crooked cabinet barren of any food. Will had wanted to cook his mother a meal as if to apologize for that which was not his fault, but as his mother had gained less of a paycheck than usual and he had been caught in the tangle of midterms, not a dollar was available. A box of cheerios was half empty above the fridge that did not function, but Will neglected to grab a bowl. His mother would need it by the time she came to.

     "Do you know what he said to me?" Viola muttered, words hardly coherent beneath the consciousness slipping from her frail grasp. Will's gaze lifted from the shards of glass being collected into his delicate hands, but his task was not abandoned. Viola continued, regardless of the lack of response. It was merely as if she was speaking to herself. "He said... He said I could stop workin' if I just left you behind."

     Will thought against giving his opinion on the prospect. His feet scuffled against the floor as he retreated to the garbage, where the pieces of glass fell with quiet clicks as they all fell to the bottom of the can. "Why won't you?"

     "You're like a puppy."

     A blink, a breath, and then a sigh. "What is that suppose to mean?"

     Viola pondered on her own statement for several long moments, then seemed to come to a conclusion. "Puppies are cute. Everyone wants 'em when they're young, but then they start to grow up. Need more attention. Take more money out of your pocket. You're still a pup. Useful enough that I can't leave you, otherwise I might be dead."

     It was nice to know he had a purpose, and Will stated as much. Viola merely passed out, leaving the shabby house in a comfortable silence that allowed Will to think about the essay he still needed to write, and the cold bath he would surely need to run; if the landlord did not shut off their water supply, that is. Will couldn't remember paying the bill this month. Everything had become an annoying blur in the midst of midterm week.

     The door was banged upon quite loudly. It had caught Will by surprise in one moment and annoyance by the next. He immediately assumed it was Nixon Brown, his mother's unforgiving boyfriend who held a peculiar resentment against the boy. The very air Will breathed was hated. Nixon despised him - for what reason, Will did not know, nor did he care to be aware of the man's reasoning. Once his mother became of no good use, Nixon would throw her out like the rest and they could move on. Perhaps to another town, or even out of state. The junior students were making odd comments about him lately. They noticed him, and that was never good. No, Will preferred to stay in the shadows and his own seclusion.

     The door rattled again with a final knock, one that was harder than the last. Will discarded the broom and shook his mother's shoulder, though she did not stir and certainly did not wake. With a defeated sigh of bitterness, Will patted across the room to the old wooden door, his gaze skimming over the rusted hinges to the rusted door handle, where a hand outside was trying to turn. It was locked, of course. Will did not trust the outside world. He did not trust anyone, in fact, not even himself.

     He was greeted by four men, all dressed in intimidating black suits tailored fittingly against their distinctly bulky frames. Will was pushed back by the mere force of all four entering in one swift step. Each man's face turned as they examined the inside of the home, one even muttering about how disgusting it was. He had an accent of some sort; Will had never heard it before. The first man to enter, an inch taller than the other three, turned to Will. He examined him for a single moment and then collected the boy's shirt into his fist, curling the material within his grip. Will knew better than to fight; he simply submitted to the action, eyes wide and glossed over with fear, but also a determination not to cry - because this was not good, and he knew it was because of his mother, and as much as he despised the woman he knew he could not survive to watch her harmed any more than she could harm herself. The man surveyed him with another menacing look, but it was distracted by a comment his fellow peer had made.

     "Look at this." The man laughed, a sound that was deep and rough. "Little pup is too scared to say a word."

      _Little pup_. His mother had called him something similar.

     "She's over there," Will muttered with an incline of his chin to the direction of the couch. Whatever this was, Viola could sort it out. "She's sleeping. She won't wake for another couple of hours. Sixty milligrams lasts two to three hours."

    The same man, Darius as his name was revealed, scowled. Evidently it had upset him that Will could in fact speak, and that his words were not drowned in petrified fear. His companion seemed to agree, as the grip on his shirt twisted once again and began to close around his throat. Darius stepped towards his hostage and flicked Will's cheek. "Wake her up." He commanded. "Or I will put a bullet between her ribs to wake her myself."

     Matis, the one keeping Will pinned against the wall, released his grip. Will's shoes hit the ground with a soft thud, though he made no move towards his mother. Darius would  not shoot; he needed Viola, presumably for money. The boy's assumptions had been correct. Darius ordered Matis to knock Will to his knees and hold the barrel of a gun to his head, as Darius filled a bowl with water and ice. He dumped the contents on to Viola's face, and the woman's figure only stirred. A slap woke her up, and William's involuntary flinch pleased Matis enough to make the man laugh.

     "Retrieve him." Darius ordered to another of the three other men, the command joined with a careless wave of a gun. Viola finally came to and screamed, which led to Darius placing a leather-clad hand above Viola's mouth. "Tell him the house is safe, and the whore is awake."

     Will's quickened breathing sounded loud in his ears. He exchanged a fearsome glance with his mother, who was sliding to her knees across from her son. Her chocolate-colored eyes were still glossy and her eyelids were distinctly still heavy with sleep. She was quiet, though, as was her child. Neither dared to mutter a word, not even as Darius and Matis discussed what they would like to do with Viola. They came a conclusion that Will was disposable. "The yard would make a good grave, don't you think, pup?" Matis concluded the idea with a dreadfully sinister smirk, calloused fingers wrapping around William's chin in a hard and relentless grip. Will swallowed a whimper and avoided the gaze of his capture, as it was beneath him to show fear. He had been caught in the midst of his mother's dealings before, and this was no different - aside from the threat of guns and the livid prospect of murder. This was entirely different, and Will was terrified.

     "You will not -"

     Whatever Viola had planned to exclaim was abruptly drowned by a _crack_. Darius had whipped the handle of his gun across Viola's cheek, leaving a bloody graze across her sharp cheekbone. The woman cried in pain, and a tear finally skidded down Will's cheek. As much pain as his mother had forced him to endure, Viola was his _mother_ , and blood was still blood no matter the consequences of being so.

     "That was not polite."

     It was a new voice, one with a thicker accent and one powerful enough to make Darius sniff in acknowledgment. He did not try to outweigh the authority it held, either. Will was not allowed to see the face the voice belonged to, as Matis did not release his grip. Will was still forced to look up at the ceiling, eyes brimming with burning tears and teeth subconsciously gritting. However, he could hear footsteps and they were nearing, followed by more and the familiar creak of the door as someone pulled it to a close. They wanted to block out the sight, perhaps the suspicions if either or both of them were to be shot. In any case, the seclusion made William's stomach churn in an anticipation to feel a shooting pain at any given moment; and he did, when Matis hardened his grip and tossed Will's head back furthermore so his neck bent uncomfortably.

     "I offer my apologies to my sudden intrusion, my dear Viola, but time is pressing and I grow weary at the prospect of waiting." The figure loomed somewhere behind him. Will could feel it. "Were you sleeping, dear?" The inquiry was met with a hesitant nod, and then a disapproving sigh from the latter. "I did inform you of my presence this afternoon with a letter. I know you received it."

     Will's worry was suddenly alight furthermore. He remembered a sealed letter. It had the letter "L" pressed in wax in an overly intricate font. Will assumed it wasn't important, so he threw it in the garbage shortly before his mother came stumbling in angry and half way to the line of high.

     This was his fault, and he could feel his mother's gaze burning into his bones.

     And suddenly, the greater authority took notice to the child breathing hard and unsteadily, who appeared to be distinctly in pain and overcome with fear and worry. "Do you mean to tell me it was this boy's fault, that you can not keep on top of your own schedule?" He tsked.

     "Mr. Lecter, you see, I did not know you sent a letter. I never saw it." Viola pleaded, voice hardly understandable beneath the influence of sleep and drugs. She was trying to blame it on her son, and Will did not disagree. No, he only swallowed thickly as his lids dropped and a fat tear fell down the side of his face. "He must have... He must have kept it from me."

     He deserved it. Will reminded himself of that.

     "Who is this, Viola?"

     Will's mother swallowed before rattling on. "My son, William. He is - I'm sure it was accidental. He is not all there, you see. He forgets things and the letter must have been thrown away as he cleaned the house yesterday. Or this afternoon. I - Well, whenever he cleaned, that is."

     The figure laughed coldly. "Viola, do I look to be a fool?"

     "No, Mr. Lecter." Viola cracked into what was unmistakably a sob. "He did not mean to. _I did not know!_ "

     Mr. Lecter shuffled again, somewhere behind Will. "You took something. Oxycodone. I can smell it." He sounded disgusted. "The oxycodone I provided. Three thousand dollars worth; and Viola, my dear, I am here to collect."

     Viola sounded as terrified as equally stern as Mr. Lecter did. She did not say anything. Merely cried. Pathetic, heart-wrenching sobs that caused Will to breath hard enough to label is as hyperventilation. Matis looked down at the boy in utter displeasure and mumbled something in a foreign language, to which Lecter responded in what Will assumed was the same dialect, but in a tone more gentle than Matis. Then Will was pulled to stand, despite how weak and feeble his legs felt.

     "Do you wish to see a bullet pass between your boy's pretty blue eyes?" Something clicked. A gun. A bullet entering the chamber, and the safety being removed. "You will learn it is best not to test my patience, Viola. You owe me money. I do not lend it to the poor for kicks. Do not think I take pleasure in watching scum like you scuffle around doing everything they possibly can to collect the money they need." Will refused to open his eyes. He couldn't stand to see his mother crying and begging upon her knees, bleeding profusely from the graze upon her cheek. "It is sickening to watch you blame your child for your lack of control and responsibility. You blamed him.  _You_ ," Lecter spat, "dug yourself into this hole."

      Will felt as if he was spinning. He wanted to vomit.

      Viola sounded as if she broke. "Mr. Lecter, please. I only need more time. I am getting old and men do not prefer the old like they do the young." She shifted on her scraped and sore knees. They were always red. Burned from the friction of the carpet. "I need a week. A week is all I ask for, and that you spare the life of my son. I will collect your money, I promise Mr. Lecter, and I will be indebted to you forever."

      "You will be indebted to me," Lecter responded with a cool malice, "whether I receive my thousands or not."

      He continued to speak in the same foreign language as before. Will recognized one word to have been previously spoken: berniukas. Will had studied many languages, but this one he could not decipher. It sounded Russian, but Will knew it was not. Not knowing only stirred a greater worry within his chest, one that made his heart feel as if it was being squeezed to the point where it was cutting off circulation. He was suddenly walking through the house, though his destination was unclear as Will was struggling to focus on one single thing, let alone the thousands of details swarming about him like a hoard of angry, buzzing wasps.

     He was not sure if he heard the crack of a gunshot, or the slam of the door behind him.

 

* * *


	2. Keep Him

     The world spun in a blurred swirl of dull colors.

     Will felt his body being thrown to the ground, but the impact did not stir any pain upon his frail and feeble body. His elbow nicked the ground, palms scraping against the cement beneath him, but he could not focus on the impact or the aftermath.

     No, there was too much conversation.

     Each man was carrying on in a conversation of his own, and in the same language that left Will befuddled and clueless as to what they were saying. They continued to use the same word, berniukas, whenever they gestured to the boy on the ground. Will had immediately assumed it was a name, or a title they had given to him. None used "Will" or "William," like his mother did, or any name in English. It was as irritating as it was comforting; if Will did not know, he could not become upset over the impoliteness of it all, but not knowing had create the same stir within him. Will did not fight the group of men looming over him, purely because he had not noticed the crowd. His knees drew up to his chest, hands shaking in a tight grip that hugged his legs. He was muttering something, a phrase that was incoherent and too quickly spoken for any of the men to entirely catch on. They were discussing it - remarking how annoying the boy was and wondering aloud if Mr. Lecter would keep him.

      _Keep him._

     "Did I ask you to all stand around?" It was Lecter. He fiddled with the button of his blazer, a piece of cloth wiping against his cheek. It was stained red. "Clean up the mess. Darius, drive. I have business to attend to at the manor."

     His group of what Will inwardly considered to be henchmen, stood still. They were blocking Will, who had not moved or blinked in an eerily long strand of time. Matis did, however, take notice to how the boy continued to mutter. "What of the boy?" Matis asked, the toe of his boot kicking William's hip in a hard jab. Lecter made a sound of disapproval and swept his hand once, the handkerchief tucked within the pocket of his blazer. His tie was straight and formal, but he fixed it nonetheless. "Up." Matis' command went unnoticed. " _Now_." He reiterated, "or I will point the gun to your head again. Is that what you want, pup?"

     "Go clean up." Mr. Lecter barked. Matis looked down upon Will with a seething look, as if the disobedience had offended him deeply; but Matis did not dare to disobey a direct order given by the man who pays him and keeps him thriving, and so Matis pocketed the weapon and strode off to the house, his polished shoes ruined against the concrete sidewalk as the man neglected to pick his feet up with each step. It was irritating and loud, and visibly making Will curl further into himself, face hidden in the confines of his knees. No one pulled at him, or threatened him with a bullet between the eyes. It was still loud as conversations were exchanged. Mr. Lecter was speaking in hushed tones to one of his people and in English, so Will could pick up on it. "Start the car and grab one of my jackets. The weather is cold, and I would rather not have our company freeze." He mumbled under his breath then, and Will was unable to catch the disapproval Mr. Lecter expressed at the lack of winter apparel Viola Graham had provided. He had described her as incompetent. Anything but a mother. But what was he? If not simply Will's end?

     Somebody had commanded him to stand again. Will did not try and acted as if he had not listened; the command had gone through one ear and out the other, and his breathing did not slow as he heard a click. A gun - but Mr. Lecter shouted at whoever had taken out the weapon and released the safety. "Not everything must be solved with blood and murder," he had said, "if that was the case, I would only view you as idiots. Now, sheath the weapons before I take out my own." There was a shuffle thereafter, which could only mean that the men had obeyed.

     The body heat of another radiated strongly on to Will's own shivering frame. Whether he was shivering from cold or fear, he could not decipher. Mr. Lecter had his own guess, in any case. He crouched down in front of his hostage and draped a heavy coat across his shoulders. He was still there, and Will could feel it, but the man did not utter a word for several long moments. Merely stared and wondered, until finally someone behind him had broken into a coughing fit.

     "Will, would it be too much to ask you to stand?"

     Will was not like the others, in that he did not give an immediate response, or a response at all.

     "The seats are heated," Mr. Lecter continued on, "and are much more comfortable than the ground."

     The surrounding group scoffed in annoyance. They seemed to find that things went quicker when they was the threat of ending ones life, rather than taking a similarly gentle approach. But still, Will remained curled in his own protective shell and unresponsive to his surroundings, where nothing could bother him as he could not focus on anything to let it be a bother. His nails dug into his knuckles, the skin white as his grip was hard upon his own knees. Mr. Lecter took notice to this and ordered something soft be found, but he did not say anything else as he waited. It was silent between the two, but the outside world was loud and buzzing in a frenzy of barking chaos. Men were yelling at other men, car doors slamming and vacuums sounding in the distance. They were cleaning his house. His house. _His_.

     "Shut up."

     The noise continued until Mr. Lecter had to yell the command, and then the shuffling of feet and irritated voices ceased. The vacuum still rumbled in the near distance, and even that Mr. Lecter had commanded someone go and order to be stopped.

     And when it was silent, it was only then that Mr. Lecter tried to pry at Will's unrelenting hands. His nails dug into the skin of the man's digits with a painful force, trying so feebly to stay as he was; but Mr. Lecter urged on with more strength. When he had placed the soft scarf beneath Will's hands, he watched as the boy's slender fingers curled around the fabric automatically, as if the scarf was no different than his hands. The skin had broken on his knuckles, and Mr. Lecter took the time to collect the crimson droplets upon the already stained fabric of his handkerchief. His blood mixed with his mothers, and the prospect of that was as horrifying as it was comforting.

     In the silence he could hear the boy's faint muttering.

     A lullaby.

     "Little Boy Blue." Will found himself to still. His temple remained pressed against his knees, but his demeanor appeared more open. Mr. Lecter took this as an encouragement. "I believe I know it."

     Hsnnibal was hooking his hands beneath the boy's arms as he stood. Will was not any more cooperative than he had been before; he was simply a dead weight, unresponsive to the simplest of commands and touches. "Little boy blue, come blow your horn. The sheep's in the meadow, the cow's in the corn." It was a good sign, however, when he did not fight Mr. Lecter's pulling grip. "Where is the boy who looks after the sheep?" He was seated, but on something more comfortable. "He's under the haystack..." His legs drew up to his chest once more, hands curling around the scarf Mr. Lecter had given him.

     "Fast asleep." Hannibal finished the lullaby with a sense of pride. He had accomplished more with Will than the others had. He was finally in the car now, and did not object when Mr. Lecter placed the jacket back upon his squared shoulders. The boy was still tense and visibly uncomfortable, but not as terribly as before; and they must start somewhere, to make the child cooperative enough to speak.

     "Would you enjoy a quiet afternoon, Will?" Mr. Lecter inquired. He was beside Will, hands folded neatly upon his lap with his gaze focused ahead. The vehicle began to move. "I sense that the noise was bothering you. Therefore I promise to give you a peaceful ride to the manor."

      It was, in fact, peaceful.

      The man beside him did not speak the entire length of the journey. He was understanding in letting Will receive his peace and quiet, as it understandably allowed him to function. He could focus, and his attention was driven solely to the rise and fall of his chest, counting each breath between the various turns Darius made at the wheel, until the car was pulled to a stop quite some time later. The car door opposite him was opened, and then his own, but Will still possessed the reluctance to exit the comforting space - especially now that he was alone. He could have simply reached outward and grasped the door, pulled it to a close, and locked it; but William did no such thing.

     "Walk with me, Will." Mr. Lecter's hand was outstretched. He knew it wouldn't be taken immediately, or no matter how he tried to verbally coax the child into doing what he wanted. Instead, he contained a surprising amount of patience. He waited until Will began to shift within the car to gently take the scarf from Will's grip. The fabric was wrapped around his left hand and then extended once more. It was just an experiment, a confirmation of Hannibal Lecter's own curiosity as he wondered about the condition of the boy. When Will did not lift his head, Hannibal extended his hand further just enough that the fabric brushed the child's wrist. Then, to his hidden astonishment, Will took the hand into his own. "Darius, would you please call Alana Bloom and explain that I require her assistance most urgently?"

     Darius nodded. His mood still seemed to be off since his boss had taken a greater liking to Will. It was not jealousy. Perhaps loathing for a boy who did not pose any harm.

     "There is much I would love to show you." He was trying small talk now, evidently trying to push the boundaries. Will was unwilling to look upon the face of the man who held his hand, but it did not take Hannibal aback. He acted as if his company's behavior was entirely normal, and it was. It was not odd. Not to him and not to those who understood, even if Will did not fully understand himself. "But first, I believe you might appreciate a change. I have a warm sweater in mind. It's red, like the color of the bricks outside. Very soft, as well."

     They turned a corner. Will counted the cracks in the marble tiles. "Alana Bloom is a dear friend of mine. She's easy to talk to, and understands most anything. I think you would enjoy her company. Oh," Mr. Lecter's step lost its rhythm. "Call me Hannibal. I hear 'sir' and 'Mr. Lecter' far too often. It's a formality, in any case, and that is not a boundary you and I are upon." Twenty-six, twenty-seven... Will lost count as they passed through an open doorway. "Take a seat if you would like. I will only be a moment while I look for that sweater."

     If there was a seat to be occupied, Will did not search for it. He settled back on the floor, legs crossed and hands curled around the scarf that Mr. Lecter had offered him once more. It was soft and smelled most peculiar, but in a pleasing way. It had a rich aroma, something like a cross between vanilla, lavender, and wood. It was wool, though it felt like he was clutching a cloud.

     Hannibal hummed Little Boy Blue most casually, as if it was his favorite tune. He was making a great effort to keep William calm and sedated, almost as if he expected the boy to burst into tears at any given moment. That much may have been true. Will had been put through enough rigorous stress to the point where it was draining. He felt like every bone in his body had melted and he was left with nothing to keep his ligaments together. His eyelids dropped. Sleep was calling.

     The opening of the door startled him.

     Hannibal's gaze shifted to the child for a brief moment, his hands wrapped around the wool sweater he had mentioned before. Darius stood in the doorway, a most curious look etched upon his distinctly foreign features, lips pressed into a thin line. "Bloom is on her way. She did not sound pleased to have been interrupted."

     "She will be."

     Whether that was a threat or a calm assumption, Will did not know.

     

* * *

 

     

     It was purely amazing how patient Hannibal Lecter could be.

     Despite the reluctance his companion never ceased to display, he had not lost his patience once. No, he went above and beyond to keep his tone cool and level, calm and serene. He wanted nothing more than to change William out of his dingy clothing to something more warm and pleasing to look upon; but as Will had a different opinion, Hannibal did not force it upon him. He folded the sweater and placed it upon the floor in front of Will. He did not ask Will to change himself, or command him to do anything of the sort.

     Hannibal simply seated himself upon the bed behind William, the pad of his thumb running against the light stubble adorning his jaw, lost in a sea of overpowering thoughts as Will was as silent as himself. They were like this for a long while. Sitting, thinking hard and deeply, never once uttering a word.

     But Hannibal was not frustrated.

     Will, of course, could not see such an obvious fact when he refused to look his captor in the eye or even acknowledge his presence entirely. The lack of Hannibal pressing him to do this or that was what aroused a worry inside the confines of his chest. He was accustomed to having his mother picking at his patience as she tried to force him to do her bidding while he was in no fit state to do so. Whatever this was, Hannibal knew he should not interfere any more than he had. He presented the aspect of the sweater, and he did not need to do anything else. Will would change himself if he desired to do so. He would speak if he wanted. He would look at Hannibal when he felt comfortable enough to stare at anything other than the floor.

     And Hannibal would wait, for as long as he needed to.

     Alana Bloom made her entrance a quarter after three. The afternoon had passed by quickly and it was beyond their notice that the clock ticked regardless of their attentive awareness. She was led to the bedroom where Hannibal and Will sat, but she did not enter. She knew Hannibal well enough, but the boy was new. She tried to read him from his side-profile, but not much could be told from a single second of observation. "Hannibal," she called, "what am I needed for?"

     Hannibal Lecter stirred. His hand dropped to the bed, a friendly smile pulling at his lips as he greeted his acquaintance. Alana was kind and self-respectful, and over the years had gained Hannibal's utmost trust - or how much trust he was willing to extend to anyone. He could not label their partnership as friendship, though, not when he only called on her when he was in need; and now, he was certainly in need of her medical opinion.

     "I would like you to meet Will Graham." Hannibal extended a polite hand to the direction of the boy curled up on the ground. She took immediate notice to the scarf. "I know his mother." Will took immediate notice to the present-tense, and Alana knew exactly what Hannibal meant. Present-tense or past-tense, she had gotten the underlying message. "Will, this is Alana Bloom. I told you about her."

     Alana's brow rose as she had expected a greeting, but did not receive one. She cast a look to Hannibal as if to confirm the intentions of her being here, and Hannibal's gaze simply stated that he needed her medical opinion, not a friendly conversation or to have her there for dinner. But he did, in fact, carry on to invite her to stay for a glorious meal he wanted to prepare while she and Will spent some time together.

     "Will. Is that short for William?" Alana's inquiry was given in a gentle tone, one similar to the softness Hannibal had used when addressing him. He did not confirm, nor disagree. "Has Hannibal frightened you?"

     For the first time, Will shifted.

     "Will, I'm going to leave the room for a moment to speak with Hannibal outside the door. If you need anything, don't be afraid to voice it." Alana beckoned Hannibal and he followed.

     The door slid into place and clicked, and Will jumped as he mistook it to be a gun.

      


	3. Mischa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mention of abuse.

     Alana had seen this before.

     She had many years ago experienced Hannibal Lecter's wrath in its full form - the destruction and the misery that followed behind, and the sheer force of his anger.

     Things like money did not anger Hannibal. He would only become irritated, if just slightly, when he was cheated. Wealth was only material. Every dollar bill counted for nothing in the grand existence of life. Hannibal Lecter did not care for wealth. The show he had displayed was merely a facade; he could have waited an eternity to collect the funds he had lent to Viola Graham, but to lax was to slowly allow his empire to crumble around him. _Slowly_ , but crumble. Brick by brick, for each person he allowed to delay keeping their end of the bargain. One must pay when they deal with the devil.

     The one time she had seen Hannibal Lecter truly angry, displaying every ounce of his wrath in its full potential power and glory, it was horrifying. Alana was taught that day, a full decade ago, to never mention Mishca Lecter.

     She was Hannibal's one and only pressure point.

     "What is it you wish for me to do?" Alana stood firm, her arms crossed in a business-like manner. "I was meeting with Frederick Chilton. Nearly cracked a case - and you call me over to meet a _boy_."

     Alana was always more defiant than the others Hannibal had swept under his wing, and she was one of the few Hannibal allowed to speak to him in such a way. "Do you not see?"

    "What?"

    "Isn't it obvious? Or have you overlooked it?"

    "I would assume he is just scared. You killed his mother and kidnapped him from the one environment he has known." Alana was not gentle with the statement. "Did you really expect him to immediately be on good terms with you?" Hannibal opened his mouth to interject, but Alana plowed on without mercy. She was trying to convict him. "Teenage boys are not stray animals you can take in when the mother abandons them. Lecter Manor is not an orphanage. It is not a safe haven."

    "I believe it is my decision," Hannibal swiftly interrupted, "to decide whether my home is a headquarters or, in fact, a home."

    Alana sniffled. Her nose was still red from the cold. "Why?"

    Hannibal raised a brow, an incredulous sort of smile playing at his lips. "I did not kill his mother, Miss Bloom, if that is what you are implying. She is alive, if just barely, but that is her own fault." Alana looked confused, and it added to his amusement. "She has one functioning hand now. I told her to consider it a lesson. Because she could not mature enough to care for herself and more importantly her son, she must lose something. Will, and the hand she used to beat him."

    Alana raised a hand to her lips, but she did not give much more of a reaction. "How did you know - that she beat him?"

    "All I needed was to look at her hand. It was obvious on Will, like an open book in bold letters. Her knuckles were scarred on the hand I assumed she had the most power. So I stole that power from her, as she stole my money and her child's trust." He paused for just a moment. "So if he is scared of me, it is merely just because he is adjusting."

    Alana shook her head disapprovingly. "You can't be sure of that, Hannibal. He loved his mother."

    "Darius told me he ratted her out. Immediately."

    "And would you not, if you had a gun pointed at you with some big, bulky brute threatening to take your life?"

    "No." Hannibal responded without pause. "Not if I loved them. His mother abused substances and abused her child. Do you think I could leave the boy living with such scum? I could hardly look at her without feeling resentment."

    "I suggest you consider how he feels before you consider yourself." Alana's hand closed around the door handle, but she did not open the door. "If you would give me some time with him, I will try to open him up. I can't promise he is any more open to women than he is to men, considering how both sexes have threatened him today."

    Hannibal nodded understandingly. He turned, but spun on his heel again when he remembered the topic he had meant to originally discuss. "The scarf. He'll dig into his own hands if you take the scarf. I think he likes it. I wrapped it around my hand when we arrived. He wouldn't take my hand without it. I have my own suspicions as to what sort of disability he has, but I would like a second opinion before I begin labeling it."

    Alana pursed her lips in consideration. Then, she opened the door and slid inside, a forced smile adorning her pink-painted lips.

* * *

     In the peace of discreet quiet, Will felt he could finally unravel himself from the protective stance he had assumed for the past couple of passing hours.

     Moments after the door closed, Will shed himself of the overly-large t-shirt his mother had gifted to him two years ago. He was older now, bordering on the age of eighteen, though his mind was much more advanced. He knew the shirt had been previously used; he assumed she found it at Goodwill, where most of their wardrobe had stemmed from. It was his fifteenth birthday gift - as if nothing said "I love you" better than a new shirt, especially when he would not receive one between then and now.

     The sweater he considered a gift, and that was what it was. It smelled of vanilla, lavender, and wood like the scarf did. He began to wander as he continued to hear voices conversing outside, hands skimming across personal affects that truly did not have much personal value.

     This was Hannibal's room. Vanilla, lavender, and wood was his natural scent - and Will was wearing his sweater.

     The ivory door handle began to turn and Will immediately dropped to the floor, legs crossed as they had been. When the handle no longer moved and the door did not inch forward, Will crept to his previous space in front of the bed, where he could only view the wall and the vast closet. The sky was dimming outside and the room was growing darker with each passing moment. The lack of light only made the boy want to sleep even more, and the floor was beginning to feel comfortable enough that he just might curl up then and there, with his scarf and his sweater and the pleasant aroma to keep him sedated.

     But, alas, the light was flicked on. William suddenly straightened and scowled at the closet door, though the wood had done nothing to offend. His quiet was interrupted.

     "Will," Alana greeted most heartily, "I spoke with Hannibal. He's going to make dinner. Something special, I presume, since you'll be joining us if you would like."

     Will was silent.

     Alana nodded to herself, lips pursed. She had worked with tough patients before, but what she needed was a diagnoses. That was what Hannibal wanted. He wanted to understand what hindered Will, as something so obviously did. "May I see the scarf?" Alana asked, her hand outstretched. Will did not move and certainly did not offer the scarf. "You seem to like it. Is there something special about it?"

     Nothing.

     A single sigh passed Alana's lips, but nothing else made Will think he was irritating her. No, he had zoned out. Whatever she wanted was unnoticed. "Can you talk, or do you prefer not to? Either way, it's fine. I just want to be able to get to know you."

     She expected nothing, and received nothing again.

     "My name is Alana Bloom. I work at John Hopkins University. It's just ten miles from here, right out of town. My field is psychology." That seemed to perk the boy's interest. He straightened just slightly, hands pulled further into his lap. Fingers still gripped the scarf. "You see, I'm here to talk to you. That's all. You don't have to verbally respond. I'll keep it to yes or no questions and you can just nod your head yes and no."

     Will blinked and shifted further away from Alana. Regardless, she pursued. "Is Will short for William?" A moment of reluctance hindered him, but Will nodded. It was slight and hardly noticeable, but Alana caught it and smiled widely. "Are you - let me guess, you're seventeen?" No. "Sixteen?" He nodded. Alana dropped to the floor a foot away from Will. "Do you like to be called Will?"

     To this, Will did not respond. It confused Alana for a brief moment, but she slowly nodded as she began to understand. "You don't like to be talked to."

     He nodded.

     "Well, you're doing very good." Alana offered a smile, but as Will refused to tear his eyes from the wall ahead, he did not see it. "Does Hannibal scare you?" Will, to her surprise, shook his head. She went silent for several extended moments, but regained her composure as she pondered on how to expand on the subject without requiring the boy to speak. "Do you like him?" Will shrugged but then thought against his original answer and shook his head. Alana laughed, and the sound brought the smallest of smiles upon Will's lips. "Not many people do, but don't tell him I said that."

     There was a comfortable silence that followed thereafter. Alana simply studied Will from the comfortable distance she had given him. She studied the scarf, the way his body language clearly stated that he would not let it go. It held some significance to him, but she was unsure how to ask what exactly made it special without requiring Will to speak.

     But she felt as if she was getting somewhere, for Will slowly adjusted his position to face Alana. He still did not look at her directly, but past her shoulder to the door.

     "Do you know why you're here?" Alana asked, her brow furrowed as she gave the inquiry. Will shook his head and his grip tightened upon the scarf. He was digging his nails into his palms through the material. "Do you want to be here?" It was not to her surprise that he shook his head. "How about dinner?" She continued. "Would you like to walk down with me to the kitchen? We can visit Hannibal and I can discuss something with him. We'll see if I can get you home. Keep in mind -" she was more stern the next moment, "that I make no promises. I can't sway Hannibal's mind on my own."

     Will did not move.

     "Perhaps if you give him a beautiful smile, he might change his mind." Alana offered a grin of her own and held out her hand. Will looked at her palm with a sort of confusion, as if he was unsure what she wanted him to do with it. Then, he placed the scarf in her hand. "Oh, yes, right." Alana wrapped it around her hand twice and offered her assistance, to which Will was now willing to take.

     Together, hand in hand, she led him through the manor. She did not offer small facts about the decor or the architecture, as she knew Hannibal enjoyed to rattle of facts about his beloved home to anyone who would listen - and she knew Hannibal would not let him go, no matter how much she begged and explained.

     There would be plenty of occasions for Hannibal to explain the significance of the painting of Cupid and Psyche hanging to their left.

* * *

 

     Hannibal was interrupted several times while he prepared a most exquisite, yet simple meal for his company.

     Darius entered many times with the telephone on hold, the speaker pressed against his shoulder. Hannibal needed to only give a look of displeasure to communicate that he would not be taking calls. Then he would return to his preparations, only to be interrupted again and repeat the cycle. By the third time Darius stepped into the kitchen, Hannibal was holding a butcher's knife at the ready.

     "If you walk into this kitchen one more time," he warned most irritably, "I will repeat what I did to Viola Graham. It will be more painful with a knife. I will not answer any calls, no matter how important whoever it is is deeming themselves to be. _I am cooking_ , and you know better than to interrupt."

     Darius did _not_ interrupt again.

     Alana appeared to be carrying on with Will for quite some time, so it heightened his hopes that the boy was finally speaking. He would not press if Will was not; the child simply needed time. Time and a comfortable atmosphere to encourage communication. The looks Darius and Matis, along with the others, had been giving the boy did not encourage such; but Hannibal was well on top of it, and there would be no more glaring or nasty side-eyes, "otherwise you will not have eyes to give dirty looks with."

     All in all, he was rather cheerful.

     His soup smelled divine and the scent carried throughout the lower half of the house. Silkie chicken soup - simple yet divine. It was Hannibal's favorite last-minute meal. Normally he had such things planned thoroughly to the last detail - his whole day was planned around dinner. Dinner was his time to cook and display his exemplary culinary skills, though he often did not have another to display them to. He did tonight, and though he wished he could have prepared something more complex and consuming, he knew Will had not seen a meal like this in years. Possibly ever, and that only prompted Hannibal to give it his all.

     The silkie chicken was prepared within the pot, along with the shitake mushrooms and the garlic slices steeping with vibrant flavor. The soup had been simmering for forty minutes now and the table was set for three, two glasses filled with pulp wine and the other filled with iced water. Condensation dripped to the mahogany table as Hannibal continued bustling in the kitchen, dishing bowls and displaying the meal. The soup was steaming, and Hannibal feared that if Alana consumed any more time, it might be cold before they arrived.

     The door to the kitchen opened as Hannibal was pouring a spoonful into the last of the three bowls.

     He first noticed the scarf wrapped around Alana's hand. She was smiling quite brightly, despite the last conversation she had shared with Hannibal in the hallway - convicting him of pushing the child and treating him like an orphan. If anything, Hannibal treated Will as a friend. A friend who's soup was getting colder by the second.

     "It smells lovely," Alana mumbled, taking a deep breath to inhale the smell of garlic and an unusual broth. "What is it that you've prepared this time, Hannibal?"

     Will still did not raise his gaze from the floor, but the reluctance did not bother Hannibal. "Silkie chicken soup. It's a Chinese dish, first prepared - on record - two thousand years before us. It's rich in vitamin B and proteins. I made a last-minute decision to add red dates for a boost of added protein. I hope neither of you mind mushrooms. It adds an absolutely divine flavor to the soup. It is not the traditional way to prepare it..." Hannibal balanced another bowl within his grasp, "but I find it tastes better, and I prefer taste over tradition."

     Alana guided Will as she followed Hannibal past the same door they had entered. The table was set, the lights dimmed and a candle lit in the very center of the table, though Hannibal had set their designated places upon one side of the table. The other half was bare. "Will, if you would like to choose a seat, I'll help Hannibal in the kitchen for a moment." She unwrapped her hand, but did not give Will the scarf; on the contrary, she beckoned Hannibal back through the door with it still in her grasp.

     "Alana, Will does prefer -"

     "I know," she interjected. "I got a smile out of him. Very faint, but he did _smile_."

     Hannibal contained a smile of his own. "That's wonderful to hear. But why are you taking his comfort?"

     Alana leaned against the kitchen counter, her elbows resting on the marble tabletop. "I've come to what I know is a valid conclusion. What is it that you believe he has?"

     Hannibal peered through the crack in the door. Will was sitting, and he could see that the boy was breathing more heavily. _He needed the scarf_. "Autism," Hannibal replied, "and what is your diagnoses?"

     "The same."

     "Now that we have established our agreement, I believe our guest is in need of his scarf."

     Alana ignored the request. "Hannibal, when you gave this to Will, you gave him comfort. When you offered the sweater, he wouldn't change into it until we left the room. That much is understandable, as I would not want to undress in front of others either - but have you ever heard of stimming?"

     Hannibal pondered on the term, then shook his head inconclusively. "No, I don't believe so."

     "In autistic children, it is an item that calms them. In a stressful situation, they can take it out and play with it - in Will's case, simply hold it - and they can focus on one thing. It's like a sedative." Alana neared the door, where Hannibal stood. She was in front of him now, and had a look of concern etched upon her soft and delicate features. Hannibal did not fear to look her in the eye. "I asked him if he wanted to stay here, and he shook his head no. He responded. He's not afraid of you, but he also isn't fond of you. Let him leave, Hannibal. You have no judicial right to keep him here. None at all. He's seventeen and he just wants to go home."

     "To his abusive mother?" Hannibal shook his head in disagreement. "Alana, you're the most clever and cunning woman I have ever had the great pleasure of meeting. You can not honestly tell me Will wants to return home to a mother who is unable to provide for him and beats him simply because he's there. Here is better than there."

     Alana was not to be swayed. "Would you rather have him miserable? He can join the foster system, to a family who knows how to deal with autistic children. To someone he actually likes."

     Hannibal's lips pulled into a smile. It was not friendly, no, but merely stated that he was not going to listen to such nonsense any further. "He needs his scarf."

     Will did, in fact, need his scarf. He was becoming restless and, though he would not outwardly admit it, frightened at the prospect of having dinner with Hannibal Lecter. Alana Bloom was nice enough. Did he leave it in the bedroom? Or drop it along the way without noticing? If it was lost -

     Hannibal entered through the doorway with the scarf in hand. He could read the panic etched across every inch of William's being. He placed the piece of fabric on the boy's lap, a look directed to Alana alone as he did so. She was the only one to notice Will stiffen as Hannibal neared, and only Hannibal noticed Will relax when he had the comfort of the scarf within his grasp. It was almost like a battle between the two, to prove who was right on where William stood in the dynamic.

     "I have several hours cleared for tomorrow," Hannibal muttered as he took the seat at the head of the table. He raised the wine glass to his lips, inhaled the scent before consuming a drop of it. Only a drop, enough to quench his need to try before he took. "If you would like, Will," he shifted his gaze, "you and I can explore the grounds. There are many places I use to hide in when I was a child. Just for your comfort, I'll require my men to leave the premises. I understand they are intimidating, especially after what they have put you through today."

    "They?" Alana questioned, her own glass of wine held to her lips. The scarlet of the beverage matched the color of her blouse.

    Hannibal's returning look was stern. "Yes, _they_. If I recall, I did ask Darius to cease pointing the gun at every breathing thing. What he does not understand is violence is not always needed."

    Will did not give an opinion on the matter. He only sat and stared at the contents in the bowl while his surrounding company had picked up their silver spoons. He sniffled once and blinked tiredly, fully sensing an argument to be on the verge of an outburst. He just wanted to leave.

    "Violence is never needed." Alana concluded more firmly than Hannibal had. He did not argue with her, though, but only gathered a spoonful of his silkie chicken soup. Alana did the same. "Do you plan on eating, Will?"

    He shook his head, and Alana exchanged a glance with Hannibal.

    "Is there anything different that you would like?" Hannibal questioned. He did not receive a response; not a shake or nod of the head, not even a conscious blink. Alana was most satisfied by the lack of response, as if it concluded her argument from the kitchen; but Hannibal, most stubborn and unrelenting, merely smiled. "I'm not offended, Will. This particular dish is an acquired taste. I did not truly expect you to enjoy it."

    Will blinked fast in a spurt of a few seconds. Hannibal watched intently and took notice to the way Will's hands timidly curled the scarf around his own wrists.

    Alana's spoon clanged against the bowl. "Let him leave."

    Hannibal's spoon did not clang, but was disregarded. "He may leave the room if he would like. I never said I would stop him."

    "Let him leave _here_. You can not keep him, Hannibal. Just look at him!" Hannibal's gaze was trained on Alana. He said nothing and did nothing, and it only provoked the doctor furthermore. "You are a cruel, _cruel_ man if you force him to stay here with you. He doesn't like you. He doesn't want your company. He certainly doesn't want to live here with you. If I didn't know I would be killed here and now, I would rat you out if it meant Will wasn't forced to live here."

    Hannibal's hands traveled to his lap. He kept his composure, despite his bubbling agitation. "Alana." He stated her name chillingly calmly, a serene expression plastered on to his face like a mask. "Do not shout."

    Alana was simply fuming. "You asked for my professional opinion, and that is it."

    Will, in the midst of the argument, had slipped to the floor.

    "I think it would be best if we called this a night, and a farewell." Hannibal stood, and as did Alana.

     She was observing him with a righteous anger, a fire of contempt burning within her as she was amazed by the pure audacity Hannibal had to believe he could control the lives of others. As if he had the _right_. "I had respect for you, Hannibal."

    "I will not be so offended if you do not any longer." Hannibal collected the bowls one by one, Will's still full and partially steaming. "I hope Dr. Chilton will excuse you for your absence this evening. I do hope you will come up with a reasonable lie as to why you had to be pulled."

    Alana did not even bother with giving a reply - whether filled with contempt and remorse or not. She gathered her composure and walked around the table to where Will sat upon the floor, and it was only when Hannibal left the room that she spoke to him. "If you need me, Will, ask any of Hannibal's men to call me. Tell them you're hurt and they'll call me. Alright?"

    Will nodded.

    Alana nodded in return with a gentle smile. "Don't fear him. He enjoys fear."

    He doesn't enjoy fear, only power. Will understood that, or at least tried to.

    The door opened from behind and Alana straightened almost suddenly. She said her farewell with only a curt nod, her gaze hard and foreboding, while Hannibal's was cool and collected. He said goodbye as he might say it to an acquaintance, not a trusted friend.

     Will sunk further into the hole he had buried himself within. The scarf, for the first time since receiving it, was not as comforting as it use to be.

 

 


	4. Retreat

     Hannibal stayed at the dinner table, solemnly sitting without a word uttered to Will, who sat just as quietly and reserved.

     The heavy door had slammed to a firm close behind Alana Bloom. Hannibal did not seem bothered by the argument he had shared with the woman; on the contrary, he appeared to be rather cheerful. Will could feel the tension release and he could hear Hannibal's breath that seemed to confirm his relaxation. He continued on with his meal as if nothing at all had occurred, and this was just another peaceful dinner that had not been interrupted by an such outburst. The casualness of it made Will want to leave. He had brushed Miss Bloom's concerns from his shoulder without a second thought being given - without _Will_ being considered. It did not matter what he wanted or what he thought was best for himself. Hannibal seemed to think he had his best intentions in mind; but William was seething, the audacity of it eating at his patience.

     But he did not say a word, and the silence did not bother Hannibal.

     "You may return to your room if you would like."

     The quiet was broken. Will sucked in a sharp breath. He wanted to apologize, though he did not know why. Hannibal's tone was neutral, irritation bordering on a thin line, but it was not Will who had caused his patience to become weary. No, he hadn't said a thing that could offend. In fact, he hadn't said anything at all. Perhaps that was what bothered him.

     Hannibal's spoon lay motionless within his bowl. Proper dinner etiquette had been abandoned for the time being. "I said I would not stop you from leaving the room, and I will not. Nor will Darius, nor Matis. The halls are empty. You are in no danger of deciding to retreat."

      _Retreat_. An odd term to use.

     Will's chair scraped against the polished wooden floor. He wasn't staying here, not in Hannibal's company if he mustn't be required to.

     The look that flashed upon Hannibal's face, just momentarily in a quick second of unguarded emotions, Will could see the disappointment. Hannibal had not caught his eye. He didn't assume that Will knew the man desired his company and, undoubtedly, his affection. Therefore, the boy did not feel any guilt in wordlessly turning and pushing the heavy door ajar, leaving Hannibal to his peaceful quiet as he slipped from the man's tight grasp of his comany. In the halls, where only he roamed, Will had gained a sense of freedom. Eyes were not watching him. Observing from afar. Trying to pick apart the pieces and assemble them into the picture of their assumptions. He was well aware of Alana's curious stare; but not of Hannibal's unusual fondness. Over the hours Will had spent utterly silent, he had been given the chance to think and assemble his own assumptions pertaining to Hannibal Lecter - the infamous someone, who did something confidential, and had a bright need of respect that could only be described as overpowering. Even when Will despised the man with his entire being, he still found himself being respectful and obedient. Hannibal respected his reluctance, if not his desires. He did not force Will to speak when he did not feel comfortable doing so, or grab him and shake him as his mother had when he had resumed into a state such as before. His mother did not understand, nor did she try to. Her neglect had left William as clueless as any. Something was wrong with him, but he did not know what.

     Will had lost his way. He did not recognize the paintings lining the corridors, or the number of doors leading to rooms he did not feel courageous enough to explore. His panicked gaze wandered to where he had distractedly wandered from; it led back to the kitchen, and Hannibal was standing at the door speaking to Darius, one of his most impolite and aggressive men. He decided against retreating to ask for directions, and continued ahead.

     His steps were quiet, as he made them so. The hall was dim despite the lights above. A glass chandelier towered above, the crowned molding around the walls painted gold in a rustic and aged manner, making the house appear all the more to be like a castle. It was large enough to be considered one, with enough rooms to house a whole town. Will could have had the greatest life here; he and his mother could have, if they were ever able to live like royalty. Viola would have been down on her knees at any time for Hannibal if it meant she even got to walk upon these marble floors. Here Will was, standing in a place that was worth more than he was, entirely for nothing. All it cost was the life of his mother, and it was sickening how much he did not mind the loss of his mother. Not now, while he was admiring - and trying to find a way out.

     One room in particular had caught his attention. The door was ajar, something flickering against the wall. A flame from a candle, Will presumed. His hand pressed against the cool wooden door, the pressure he bestowed inching the door forward until it was entirely opened, as if inviting him to explore that which he knew was off limits and completely pushed past a transparent boundary.

     This was Hannibal's office.

     A desk lay in the middle of the room, papers stacked among papers, all in a tidily organized manner. A wall held shelves stocked with a different assortment of weaponry, though mostly antique fire weapons. Most Will could not name, unlike most boys his age. All he knew was to not touch, and that he did not do. He stayed far from the shelf, partly because of his healthy fear of weapons and because he did not want his curious snooping to be made known should Hannibal enter after him. He was to look, and nothing more.

     That is, until he saw a single document spread forth upon the desk.

     It had Will's name etched upon the top margin in black ink, a pen laying beside it. The document contained his past health records and his birth certificate. His father's name was not written upon it. The line was barren of a signature, but it did bare a single cursive "H." As if someone began to write, but then decided against it. Viola's signature was underneath, but he expected it to be. Viola Graham was his mother. _Was_. "H" could have been the beginning scrawl of Hannibal Lecter. His name did not belong there. Hannibal was not his father and had no right to act as if he was. It was infuriating. The man seemed to think he had a claim over him. A puppeteer merely pulling strings for kicks. Because he wanted to, not because he should. Will was entirely out of his own control. It was Hannibal - what _Hannibal_ wanted, what _Hannibal_ needed, what _Hannibal_ commanded -

     "What are you doing in here, little pup?"

     Darius. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed in front of his chest, a purely sinister grin pulling at his split lip. He appeared most pleased to have found Will doing something he should not, and because of his slow advance, Will knew Darius would be furthermore pleased to be the one to show Hannibal his pet had done something wrong.

     Hannibal seemed to be one who would punish.

     "Lookin' at things you shouldn't be?" He tsked, bulky arms falling to his side. "Pity if you got caught by bosas."

     It was a threat. Bosas sounded similar to boss, and that could only refer to Hannibal. Will felt the instinctive to run and hide, but Darius' figure covered a large mass of the space between the desk and the doorway, and Will knew no matter how small and thin he was, Darius would be faster.

     He surrendered. _Again_.

     Darius was not gentle as he dragged Will by the arm, fingers gripping his forearm most uncomfortably. Will could have snarled he loathed the man so passionately. Darius hummed a tune in his throat, and Will began to wonder how much strength it would require to choke him. More than he had, most likely. Frail arms did not give strength. William was like a rag doll beneath Darius' hold, but the man knew it. He seemed to be more than willing to drag Will to what would surely be his end.

     "Darius, what are you doing?" The sound of Hannibal's accented voice allowed Will to know they had reached the dining hall once more - but this was not the dining hall. The floor was different. Carpeted, unlike the rest of the expanse of the home. This was a bedroom - Will's bedroom, and Hannibal was holding a platter of an assortment of foods. Confusion still laced his features from moments before he and Darius had stepped through the doorway. "Release Will. I gave you clear orders to never touch him."

     "I found him in the third wing."

     Hannibal's gaze narrowed.

     "Snooping," Darius continued. He still held Will's forearm in a crushing grip, despite his employer's orders. "Lookin' through your office. I ought to think you'd show him a lesson about being rude." The word _rude_ brought a wider grin upon Darius' lips. It was deeper than sinister, worse than evil. He was hoping to watch Will be beaten.

     The platter was set upon the bed, carefully so as to avoid spilling the glass of water upon the duvet. Hannibal's shoulders were broad and squared, and his demeanor simply radiated irritation. Anger, in William's view. "I should think you're going deaf, Darius. Did I not just tell you to release the boy, or must I reiterate the order more clearly?"

     Will was entirely taken aback. He expected some kind of outburst, one similar to how dinner had played out. But Hannibal was calm and collected. His eyes had not fallen upon Will, who refused to look at him just as firmly. Still, Darius released his arm with a sort of burning hatred. "You're going to let him get away with prying through your business? _Bosas, Ar ketinate leisti jam pabėgti nuo visko? Kur yra užsakymas?_ "

     Hannibal's lips momentarily pulled back into the reminisce of a snarl. " _Nesakyk man, kaip nukreipti savo tautą_." The man collected his composure well, for he beckoned Will with a mere bark of the boy's name. Will remained inches from Darius, which seemed to have caught Hannibal's surprise. He looked from Darius to Will with an odd curiosity and bewilderment. "Will, come." When the child still remained, face downcast and his hands twitching, Hannibal breathed something close a tired sigh. "Come, I won't hurt you. Nor will Darius."

     A small step was all that was given. Timid, shy, and reluctant - but it was a step regardless, and Hannibal took it as his cue to wave Darius away with the brief instructions to close the door behind him and then something in the same foreign language, to which Darius curtly nodded.

     Hannibal didn't speak for a long while. He watched Will with an emotion that was undecipherable, even if Will was to study him in return. Finally, after exhaling a soft breath into the air, Hannibal turned upon his heel and walked the expanse of the room, disappearing behind a door that led to a room Will had yet to explore; though, he was becoming weary of exploring, since so much seemed to be dangerous and Hannibal's men were lurking everywhere, constantly looking for a chance to be rid of the boy.

     The platter upon the bed was filled with foods Will could not recognize. Some appeared odd and unappetizing, and others looked absolutely delectable; and since Hannibal was not standing within the same room observing him from afar, Will seated himself upon the bed to obtain a closer look. Chocolate was the main course. "Eat," Hannibal called from within the next room. A noise followed directly behind. "I thought you were here. Had I thought you were inside my office, I would have brought the meal there." Will felt shame bubble within his throat, the temptation to mutter an apology on the very tip of tongue. But he did not, and Hannibal did not ask for an apology. "As much as I encourage you to explore and familiarize yourself, I ask that you are cautious in the third wing. There is much I would not like you to see. Though, as I am not terribly upset that you violated my privacy, I will not offer any sort of reprimanding. You could have found something much worse." Hannibal sauntered to the doorway. As he stood with his shoulder pressed against the frame, he found Will to be appreciating the display by, as he should be, eating it truffle by truffle. "That would have been a punishment in itself." He smiled, something small and barely there. "So, chocolate? Is that the secret to prying you open?"

     Will did not respond, but nothing else was expected. He was taking it slow, fearful of a stomach ache if he consumed too much too fast. He had a low tolerance for sweets as it was, but the dish looked too divine.

     "The bath is running. When you've finished, it will be warm and ready." Hannibal could have mistaken it, but he thought he saw William nod in acknowledgment. "Are you enjoying it?" Hannibal did not mistaken it this time - Will did, in fact, nod. The sudden response encouraged him to ask more questions, ones that were prying at him since his argument with Alana. If Will was not going to be so keen on answering those now, filling on sugary chocolate with the comfort of just he and Hannibal, he knew the subject would have to be stored for later when Will was finally going to speak to him. "Are you enjoying it here?" Will did not nod or shake his head. Hannibal's hand rose to his jaw as he tried to decipher a way to ask the question again, only with a clearer intention. "Would you enjoy it here, if I kept my men away from you?"

      Will appeared to be pondering on the idea. The chocolate truffle was discarded to the emptying platter, brow furrowed in concentrated thought. He did not enjoy Hannibal, but what he provided. A warm home, chocolate, and a bedroom that he could call entirely his own. His mother was dead, which left him with nothing. School was too upsetting, as the sounds of hundreds of students could never be fully silenced and that only confused and upset him further. He could not learn if he could not focus. He could not converse if he could not appear normal enough to speak to a fellow student. Schooling had been his greatest struggle, but now he doubted he would have to return. That fact did make him want to smile. Then, as he came to a conclusion, he nodded.

     It was to Hannibal's great satisfaction that he was driving responses from Will. It was second step to trust.

     "Finish up now," he urged, "and hop in the bath. I'll see if I can find you something for bed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lithuanian translations:  
> Bosas.  
> \- (boss)  
> Ar ketinate leisti jam pabėgti nuo visko? Kur yra užsakymas?  
> \- (Are you going to let him escape from everything? Where is the order?)  
> Nesakyk man, kaip nukreipti savo tautą.  
> \- (Do not tell me how to direct my people.)


	5. Goodnight

   The exquisite lifestyle that Hannibal Lecter lived was truly fascinating.

     Even the bathtub, something that was just shining white stone and an appliance that surely everyone else had, gripped Will's captivation so tightly. It was filled with steaming water, a mountain of bubbles visible just over the brim. The washroom smelled of lavender, vanilla, and wood - an aroma that Will was beginning to associate with Hannibal. Nevertheless, he inhaled deeply and unwound in the pleasurable atmosphere the silence and the heat created. He was so thoroughly relaxed that when Hannibal slipped past the comfortable bubble surrounding him, William did not care. He welcomed it, even, by neglecting an attempt to hide. Hannibal did not say anything when he first entered, but placed the change of clothes he had grabbed for the boy upon the sink. Then, as he turned towards the door once more, he was caught up in the sight of Will relaxed. He was not curled up into his own protective ball of fear, but unwound and open. Sinking slowly, inch by inch, into the water until it was to his chin.

     It was without hesitation that Hannibal made his final decision, seeing as how he would rather find peace in the sight of Will than tend to the matters that Viola Graham had caused. After the day he had, he too could use the time to unwind.

     Will hadn't noticed when Hannibal first arrived, though he could feel the eyes lingering upon him. He did not object to it. If he was to stay with Hannibal for the rest of his pitiful life, he would have to learn to trust Hannibal - even if trusting meant having barely any faith in him at all. Given the short history they had, and the longer history Hannibal had with his mother, trust was bound to be short. There was no guarantee that Hannibal would not sell Will as Viola had, if he needed the money some day. If the sight of him no longer inflicted any sort of pleasure. If his lips no longer looked so pretty. William would be condemned to the streets, living like the whore his mother was. It was a chilling thought gripping his imagination. Through closed eyelids he depicted himself now, nearly eighteen, bent on his hands and knees, submitting to whatever others wanted. Was that not what he was doing now, for Hannibal Lecter? Even if not so intimately, he was still giving the respect and obedience that the man wanted; and when time came, as it surely would, Will had the disturbing certainty that he would still do as Hannibal pleased.

     He was caught by complete surprise when he felt hands running through his hair, fingers carding through the chocolate locks that were wet beneath the influence of water. His eyes opened upon instinct to find who the violator was, but it was not truly to his astonishment to find Hannibal there. Seated upon a white-painted stool, big and scarred hands lathered in some kind of soap, gazing down upon Will as he worked the digits through each lock of hair. His nails began to scratch William's scalp, driving a sound quite like a subconscious purr from the boy's throat. Though embarrassment colored his cheeks because of both the sound and the contact, he did not ask Hannibal to stop. Perhaps that was what Hannibal wanted, to draw even just a single word from Will - but he knew better than that, though he hardly the man, to assume such a thing. It was an act of kindness and Will was to force himself to give into it. The task was not that hard, after all, when he was melting beneath what was quite literally a massage.

    "Will..." Hannibal hummed, a sound that was deep and raspy and utterly lovely so near to Will's ear. "I have been thinking, about what you would want."

     William's brow rose out of curiosity. His heavy eyelids slid closed once more, shoulder sinking just an inch further into the warm water. He made a sound that prompted Hannibal to continue, which was the most verbal response he had given all day.

     Hannibal's wrist sank further into the water as he worked near the base of Will's skull. "From what I understand, you attended a public high school, yes?" Will nodded. "It is my own personal opinion, but I don't favor them. The teaching is lousy, most often, and the students are never very kind. They don't teach proper etiquette, and it is most infuriating." Though he was not looking, Will knew Hannibal's expression was twisted into a mixture of concentration and frustration. "Would you object if I found you a private tutor? I only assumed you might like the prospect, because I understand you're not favorable of groups of people. Perhaps I'm wrong. Do tell me if I am. This is your decision," Hannibal continued, "and I won't influence your choice. This much, at least, is in your control."

    Will pondered, although Hannibal's continuous pressure to his scalp was most distracting. Bathing was a routine he would be able to easily become accustomed to, if it meant he was given the treatment of royalty. Even the nakedness of it did not bother him, nor the contact. He was enveloped in the familiar smell and that was enough to quench the nervous habits and ticks he inhabited, along with the need to stay far from physical contact. He was, in short, finding himself becoming more comfortable with Hannibal. The idea of being given a small ounce of control was lightening in itself, enough so that it brought a full smile to the boy's lips. That, or how well Hannibal was massaging into the base of his skull.

    Hannibal was unconcerned with the lack of an answer. He had not uttered the question in a yes or no form, after all, as it was attempt to see if Will would speak. As he still did not, Hannibal did not pursue the subject further. Schooling was not such an urgent matter - if all came down to it, Hannibal could teach him for the time being. Until his trip abroad, that is, and then the need for a tutor would be more pressing. It would not be difficult to acquire one in any case, if the right persuasion was used. Hannibal had all the money he could need and he was willing to put it forth if it meant Will was happy and content.

    Why he felt so deeply for the boy was unbeknownst to him. He did not sit and ponder on it at all, but merely flowed with it. Something had drawn Hannibal to him, whether it be the need to pull him from the disgrace of a life he was living or the simple attractiveness the child held.

    _Child_. What did that make him?

    In the midst of his sudden and gripping thoughts, Will turned. He faced Hannibal, curious eyes resting on him. Not the water below, or the fading mound of bubbles, but on Hannibal - and that, as he understood, created a great swell of pride within him. He was getting somewhere, even if it was within the smallest of steps that would take decades to get to the line.

    Will was simply beautiful. Hannibal hadn't noticed the full impact of it, since he had refused to meet his eyes before, but the blue of the boy's eyes was absolutely stunning. The orbs were pale, brown speckled in the midst of piercing blue. His pupils were blown, whether that was natural or not. His lashes cascaded a shadow against the jagged edge of his cheekbone, where the slightest of freckles swept across to the bridge of his nose. Nothing could have described the beauty, or just how much breath it knocked out of Hannibal's lungs to have the honor to see those eyes - to have those eyes looking right back at him, in a contrasting swirl of deep caramel.

    "Tutor?" Hannibal asked, quite stupidly. He was caught in William's hold, whether the boy realized it or not. He wondered how Viola Graham could have hated her child enough to beat him - how she didn't crumble beneath such a purely innocent, utterly divine boy. If he could have, Hannibal would have swept away the memory of how those those purple bruises were bestowed. In the lack of color within the room, the pigment appeared far brighter. They freckled his shoulders, one disappearing beneath the waterline. Hannibal would have taken away the memory of Viola entirely.

    Despite the awkward timing of the confirmation, William smiled and nodded. He would have preferred to home-school himself, given the fact that he could have learned anything if there was a book in front of him. Even if it was Hannibal who would teach him. The prospect of having to open up to another person entirely, to spend so much time within their company - it was as displeasing as it was exciting at being out of the high school he had attended before. He would no longer have to hear the crude comments or the sly glances. No, all he would have to endure was the _look_ Hannibal was giving him. It was such a differing contrast of emotions all pulled into one expression, so varying that Will could not place a name on it.

    He glanced to the opposite wall. Hannibal followed his line of sight, a sound of realization issuing from his parted lips as he retrieved one of the white towels draped upon a rack. The towel was placed upon the edge of the tub, Hannibal's hand lingering there for just a moment as he stole a single gaze from his company, who looked up at him with big blue eyes so terribly captivating that Hannibal considered stripping and slipping into the tub as well, where he could bath William for longer and feel the soft locks upon his head between his fingers again, temple resting upon his chest in relaxation. The idea was too tempting, and Hannibal found himself retrieving his hand so quickly it looked like he might have been stung.

    "I'll... yes, I'll leave you to it, then." Hannibal sucked in a breath. Will watched as the man's chest fell with it. "If you need anything else - an extra blanket, perhaps, you know the way to my office. That's where I'll most likely be."

    "Goodnight."

    Hannibal stiffened upon his step. If sharing eye contact was not big enough of a step, this surely was. It ached to have to leave him there, in the tub with bubbles upon his neck and hair wet and so very tempting. He had never seen a boy so alluring before. He had never heard a voice so oddly sweet. God, had he never wanted to stay so terribly.

    "Goodnight, Will."

* * *

     Sunlight beamed through the open window. The heavy curtains were pushed back, allowing every bright ray to cast inside the room. William curled in on himself as the light was too bright against his tired figure, making the darkness turn to an irritating orange. He tossed to the opposite side, the back of his hand rubbing against his cheek as he tried to resume his previous comfortable position. He did, for the most part. His side had a particular ache and his neck had been in the wrong position for too long, but he felt sleep egging him on once more.

     Had the morning not so obviously presented itself, perhaps Will could have slept for longer.

     It was a dreamless night, which William considered to be the best. Nothing terrorized him, nor woke him up in a fit. It was simply black, picture-less, and dull.

     It was quite some time that passed of Will laying in bed, the duvet pulled up to his chin and his eyes squeezed shut to block out the idea that he needed to begin taking on the day. He truly would have liked to stay in his massive bed all day and avoid responsibilities. It would have been lovely. Given how yesterday had gone, Will wanted nothing more than begin a better life where Viola and her past mistakes were not a plague terrorizing him day by day. Waking up in a bed four times bigger than himself with sheets more expensive than his entire being made for a marvelous start.

     A knock rapped at his door. Will pulled the duvet over his head and grumbled incoherently, twisting away as he heard the handle turn and click. Nobody said a word, and feet did not shuffle across the floor. He did not hear an exuberant 'good morning' or a mumbled command for him to climb out of his comfort. No, he merely heard the door slide back into place.

     Will tossed the duvet and propped himself up on his elbow, eyes peering the length of the room in search for the trespasser; but the room was empty, and nothing had been left at the door. He began to wonder if he had imagined the interruption.

     But there was something out of place. A pillow placed upon a small cushioned love-seat, an item placed with utmost care on top.

     Purely out of a sharp curiosity, William shuffled out of bed to examine the new intrusion. Delicate hands picked up the piece of parchment, blue orbs scanning across the intricate script.

  An invitation from Hannibal Lecter.

_Your presence is requested in the dining hall as soon as you are awake and willing. Nothing extravagant. I merely assumed you would like to have brunch, preferably before I must leave for the afternoon_

     Afternoon? Brunch?  Will must have slept for longer than he originally thought. Where was Hannibal off to?

     Will discarded the letter into the trash bin in the washroom. He gave himself a quick glance in the vast mirror, fingers hurriedly brushing tangled brown locks behind his ear. He could use a trim. Hannibal would, no doubt, take him to a barber upon the opportunity that he asked. No, Hannibal seemed to type to have his own personal barber that came _here_ ; not a dingy barbershop at the corner of the town.

 _Pants_. He would probably need pants.

     But, he didn't have any. Not here, anyway. His clothes from yesterday were elsewhere - most likely in the garbage. Still, he couldn't waltz down to brunch in just a sweater that reached his knees. Though Hannibal might prefer that.

     Will shook his head.

     What did it matter? Hannibal had, in theory, seen him entirely nude. Granted, the shimmering, golden water had hid what was beneath – but it was just Hannibal, and he wouldn't care.

     And so, with mounting hesitance, Will slipped out of his bedroom.

     To his great misfortune, the halls were not empty. Hannibal's men lined the corridors, some patrolling with devices and peering out windows, and then some with what was obviously guns. The type Will did not know, but they were not small and thin like the pistols they had threatened he and his mother with the previous morning. They seemed so engrossed with whatever was outside that they did not hear William's quiet steps or the sound of his shaking breath. His hands fumbled with the hem of the sweater, pulling the fabric down past his knees; no matter his efforts, the sweater would not stretch and he was left as exposed as before, though none of them batted an eye.

     "Kid.” It was a breath of his new title that sounded utterly exasperated. It was Matis, his scarred digits fidgeting with a device in his ear. “Head back up to your room, pup.”

     Will scowled. “I was told to go to the dining hall.”

     The corner of Matis' mouth twitched. “And who told you to go there? If it was Darius, he's only messing with you. Tryin' to get you in trouble, no doubt, for embarrassin' him yesterday.”

     The boy's brow furrowed, mostly in frustration. He hadn't seen who had left the letter, but he was sure it wasn't Darius. Hannibal and Darius' footsteps sounded different. “It was Hannibal,” Will concluded. “He left me a letter. I guess… I suppose he didn't want to wake me up.”

     Matis looked suspicious for all of a moment. “He's in a meeting.”

     “He left me the letter all of five minutes ago,” Will retorted, “so why would he already be in a meeting?”

     “Mr. Lecter makes his own schedule. Watch your mouth, anyway.” Matis turned back towards the door. “You're to call him Mr. Lecter. Nothing else.”

     It was to Will's great satisfaction that he could say otherwise, and he did so with a proud smile. “I was told by _Mr. Lecter_ himself that I should call him Hannibal. If you have a problem with that, I suggest you confront him with it.” He said no more. Will, being so small and thin, easily slipped past Matis and grasped the closed door. He turned the handle, ignored Matis' quick protest, and stumbled through the doorway.

     Hannibal was standing at the table, palms pressed flat against the glass. He appeared frustrated with his companion, who Will did not recognize, as if they were in the midst of a heated argument. It was then, when both men looked away from each other to the child, that Will realized he had taken the wrong door. This was the third wing, not the dining hall. Playing it off would only look foolish now. William's mouth gaped open in an attempt to grasp an apology and an excuse, but not a sound uttered forth. The unknown companion looked at him expectantly, then in bewildering amusement.

     "I..." Hannibal, for once, seemed truly at a loss for words. He cleared his throat and straightened, hands larger than his own brushing down the front of his maroon suit. Will noticed the color made the caramel hue of his eyes seem deeper - almost red in the odd lighting. " _S'il vous plaît, excusez-moi un instant_."

     Will recognized that. It was French. The man across the table looked most frustrated, though he nodded in understanding. Hannibal snapped at Matis in the same foreign language they often exchanged as he strode to the door, a hard gaze making Matis shamefully nod and shuffle inside the room. He left his gun outside the door. Evidently, the guest was not to be intimidated or threatened. The door shut behind Hannibal.

    "Will..." Hannibal breathed, head shaking. "What are you doing here?"

    The boy's lips parted once more, but he found himself unable to give an explanation. He was beginning to think he had been wrong, and this was a mere trick after all.

    But Hannibal, who's expression changed to that of fondness in the fraction of a second, placed his hands upon Will's shoulders. "It's no matter. I apologize for the confusion. I did not expect our company to arrive for another two hours. I would have sent word for a slight delay to our meal, but I didn't want to send any of my men to do so. It would only be right to do it myself." Hannibal gave Will a slight encouraging smile. "If you wouldn't mind, Will," Hannibal muttered more quietly, thumb brushing a stray hair out of Will's view, "could you wait for me in the dining hall? It's down a flight of stairs to your right." WIll nodded. "I'll be down as soon as I'm done discussing business with that vile... vile _baboon_."

    Will suppressed a laugh at the odd terminology. "I was just..." The boy's tongue darted across his bottom lip, eyes narrowed in thought. "I was wondering when - or if I would be getting any clothes of my own."

    Hannibal looked at him in confusion, and then the request began to settle. He glanced down between them, and to his amusement he found the sweater riding above William's knees. He nodded with something close to a grin, hands dropping down to his sides to be tucked within the pockets of his matching maroon slacks. "Of course. I sent Matthew Brown to retrieve a sufficient variety of outfits for the time being. I thought he would have returned by now. I imagine traffic must be a nightmare around this time." He muttered thoughtfully. "My apologies, in any case. You mustn't feel comfortable waltzing around in just that."

    Will shrugged. "I don't mind. Your men despise me, so I don't imagine its much a temptation to them."

    "Despise?" Hannibal repeated, his brow raising incredulously. "Who, might I ask, feels so strongly?"

    "I shouldn't rat them out."

    Hannibal glanced back to the door. "As much as I would love to chat, I'm afraid my guest-"

    "Vile baboon, you mean," Will interjected.

    The corner of Hannibal's mouth pulled into a charming smile. "Yes. The vile baboon will be blundering out here if I do not return within an appropriate amount of time."

    Will nodded understandingly, rolling on the ball of his heels. His gaze shifted to the window, where the wind was rustling a trimmed bush just outside. Hannibal watched him most curiously. "Go on ahead," the boy urged, "I'll be waiting right here."

    "The dining hall, Will."

    His head shook in defiance. "I'll be right here, so I can interrupt if you take any longer than... five minutes. Yes, five. Then the vile baboon will have to learn his manners and let you leave. It's terribly rude to be late to brunch."

    Hannibal breathed a soft chuckle, head shaking as he grasped the door handle. "It's terribly rude to sleep in until eleven."

    Will tried to act offended, though he did not pull off the act quite well enough. "It's even more rude to tell me when I must wake up."

    "Just don't come barging in, Will. He is not the nicest man." Hannibal's warning was disregarded, and the man knew it. "I don't want him seeing you. He knows you're here now and that's enough to be dangerous."

    Will nodded with a hum. Whoever the man was, he hardly scared Will terribly enough that he would cower in fear. Avoid him, yes, but not hide in the corner.

    "Hurry up, Hannibal. I'm hungry."

* * *

     It was seven minutes past when Hannibal and his company came bumbling through the doorway - two minutes past the five that Will had enforced, though he did not dare to interrupt Hannibal again. Perhaps the man knew he wouldn't, as he made quite the show to take his time in giving a hearty goodbye. His company seemed further reluctant to leave, or simply just reluctant to tear his greedy eyes from the boy seated upon the floor, who's red sweater was pulled down past his knees.

     "Charming little boy," he commented with a smile that was less than kind, and more terribly horrifying than sinister. "Yours?"

     Hannibal stepped closer to the door, a silent urge to part now that his companion had commented on Will's presence. "No," Hannibal replied, "and he's not overly fond of people. Attention, for that matter, so I urge you to leave him be."

    The man grinned in amusement and cast Will, who would not meet those gray eyes, a suggestive wink. "Don't you worry, Lecter." His French accent began to slip through. "I don't have any future plans to take him from you."

    "Considering your business," Hannibal murmured none too kindly, "I find that hard to believe."

    "Ah, yes. Sex trafficking has never been your cup of tea, as I know."

    Will glanced up with an emotion similar to worry lacing his features - prominently his mouth, as Hannibal noticed. He hushed William with a single look and the words "it's alright" shaping his mouth in a silent comfort and encouragement. "Which is why I have spent the past twenty minutes trying to bring the horrors of it to light to you. Do take what I have said into consideration, Marcus."

    Marcus, as his name was now exposed to be, snickered. "You can't help where you get your money from, Lecter. You know that as well as I do."

    Hannibal did not take the time to wipe the same look from Will's face again. He turned further to Marcus, a more stern look flashing behind a calm facade. "I would prefer not to discuss business in front of such young and innocent ears."

    "Innocent?" Marcus clapped a hand against Hannibal's shoulder. The latter was saved from toppling over only by the column he leaned against. "I would assume he's a new toy. The infamous Hannibal Lecter doesn't keep kids - or company for that matter. Why, just look at how you're trying to push me out with sly comments." Marcus disregarded whatever it was that Hannibal was about to chime in with. "Does he keep you for sex, little one?" He was addressing such an accusation to Will now, who was half-way upon standing when the comment was given. "I could-"

    Hannibal pulled the entryway door open further. "If you have anything else to say, I would love to hinder you from speaking with a bullet through your tongue." He beckoned his hand, wrist twisting in an offer. Will stumbled forth, brown curls falling out of place as he inched to Hannibal's side. "I refuse to do business with men like you for a very good reason. Exploiting children is the worst crime one can commit."

    Marcus' mouth twisted into a sneer. " _La prochaine fois que nous nous rencontrerons, Lecter, laissez-nous passer notre temps à compter combien de corps tachent vos mains_."

    Whatever it was that Marcus had said, Hannibal did not react well. His hand closed around Will's waist in a grip so strong it could have bruised, but Will was cowering into his side just as forcefully. He was beginning to learn that whatever people uttered in a foreign tongue, in the midst of a disagreement, it was never kind. Hannibal's tone overpowered that of Marcus as he spoke in return. "Leave if you value your life, or stay and we shall add it to that count."

    Will pulled on the hem of Hannibal's blazer. In return, Hannibal tangled his fingers through the boy's hair and pressed his head to his side. Marcus' lips pulled into a snarl, a fountain of what was assumed to be insults flooding from his mouth in incoherent French. Nonetheless, the moment Marcus was through the door, Hannibal slammed it closed and slid the double lock into place.

    "Be sure he leaves." Hannibal watched through the glass pane. Marcus had stopped to shout at one of his own men who stood guard beside the vehicle he had arrived in. "If any of his men near this door, shoot."

    Will, as frightened as he was, wanted to stay to see what was made of Marcus and his team. However, Hannibal was ushering him down the hall, making a point to keep William's head pressed underneath his arm. Despite the outward appearance, Hannibal did not act pleasantly relieved to have lost the company of Marcus. He was speaking in his natural tongue, his brow furrowed into a knot and his gaze so piercing Will thought it could have sliced through anyone Hannibal glared at.

    "The indecency - the _rudeness."_

    Will managed to pull himself away from Hannibal's side with a tug filled with what strength he could muster. "Vile baboon," the boy returned. "That's what he is."

    Hannibal, though caught up rather tightly in the chaos of his anger, smiled. "Precisely." He turned sharply on his heel. Will followed his gaze with urgency and listened as Hannibal barked the name of Matis, who came jogging into the dining hall. " _šaudyti juos visus. kai jis pasiekia motelį, noriu, kad jie būtų mirę_."

    Matis nodded and, to William's great surprise, directed a smile to _Will_.

    "What did you say?" Will asked, gaze directed to Hannibal now. The older man was smiling at him fondly, as if this was the first time he had seen him at all. "Hannibal, what did you tell him to do?"

    Hannibal could have relished in the sound of Will's voice for the rest of time if he was allowed. So sweet and soft, filled with emotion and youth. This and the consequences that followed would be well worth it, if Hannibal got to hear that voice and look upon those eyes every day for the rest of his life. "Nothing you need to worry about," he soothed. "All is well."

    Will didn't know if he could believe that. He certainly did not when he watched a dozen of Hannibal's men shuffle through the door, weaponry in hand.

    "Brunch?" Hannibal asked, his hand closing around Will's wrist as he pulled him from the sight. The table was full, two places set, obviously ready to be gratefully taken. Will wasn't so sure he felt like eating now.

    "Yes, brunch."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations (in order of being given):  
> (French) S'il vous plaît, excusez-moi un instant.  
> \- Please, excuse me a moment.  
> (French) La prochaine fois que nous nous rencontrerons, Lecter, laissez-nous passer notre temps à compter combien de corps tachent vos mains.  
> \- The next time we meet, Lecter, let us spend our time counting how many bodies stain your hands.  
> (Lithuanian) šaudyti juos visus. kai jis pasiekia motelį, noriu, kad jie būtų mirę.  
> \- Shoot them all. When he reaches the motel, I want them to be dead.


	6. Lullaby

     Alana Bloom had been there for an hour.

     Will was silent as her fingers traveled down his ribs, a look of pure concentration adorning her soft features. She hummed once, then twice, and the pad of her thumb stopped above his pelvis.

     "When was this?" She asked.

     Will shrugged.

     Alana replied with a sigh. He was not verbal with her, and the reluctance did not make the current task any easier. It was harder, in fact, when Will refused to respond with more than a hum or a shrug, or a nod or a shake of his head. She had tried to use persuasion, even a bit of sternness laced in her voice. No matter what she tried, Will stared ahead without a decipherable expression. Alana could hardly read into a single micro-expression - an involuntary pull of the lips, a fast blink or a flutter of the eyelids. Will could have been made of stone.

    "Will, I won't be able to give Hannibal a report if you refuse to respond."

    Not even threatening worked. But was it really a threat to him?

    Alana pulled the white latex gloves from her hands, the material snapping with the quick pull. She stood from where she had crouched, her lips set into a thin line. Will could sense she was not impressed, that she might become angry with him if he did not give the slightest recognition that she was there. He didn't even shiver when her hands had splayed across his hip, where he had always been the most ticklish. He had zoned out so utterly focused that whatever else was around him was not even there.

   He heard the door close. The room was empty. He was somewhere near the pool - he could smell it, the chlorine. He hadn't actually seen the pool, but knew it was there. Matthew Brown had bought him a swim suit, upon Hannibal's orders, of course. Matthew had brought him lots of clothes, more than Will had ever owned since he was a small child and their life was still remotely stable. Shirts, pants, shorts, even shoes. Will didn't know how to respond, but Matthew seemed to have gotten the message despite having not verbally admitted his gratefulness. Matthew smiled and said, with a flirty wink, " _no problem, sweetheart_."

   The door opened once more and Will shifted, just slightly, upon the bench.

   "Will?" It was Hannibal. The boy's gaze snapped out of its daze and raised to the man, who offered a friendly smile. "Alana told me she's having some trouble."

   William sucked in a sharper breath and shifted his attention to his hands, where his scarf was balled in his fists. "I don't like having people prod at me."

   "Prodding?" Hannibal repeated. He dropped down to his knees before the child, a sort of hesitance lingering beneath the placement of his hands upon the cushioned bench. "Miss Bloom is merely just trying to assess... She only wants to know where your mother touched you. That is all. I asked Miss Bloom to help. Would you let her?"

   "No."

    Sensing he was losing his grip, Hannibal turned to the door. He knew Alana was outside, listening in on the conversation Hannibal had initiated. It was against Will's right of privacy, of course, but necessary for his health. "Would you let me?" He inquired, hands held in the air as if to tell Will he would not touch unless given permission. "I need you to understand to it is vital we discover where Viola might have hurt you. Aged wounds can still hurt, Will. In more ways than just metaphorical."

     Will sighed, a sound that was soft and exasperated. He had done nothing rigorous, aside from allowing Alana Bloom to touch him. He was aware of every inch of his skin that she touched, though he might not have let the doctor know as such. He was terribly uncomfortable. The small room, which looked too much like a hospital wing, was dawning. Will wanted nothing more than to leave. To curl upon his bed, beneath the warm duvet, wrapped in a cocoon of his own comfort. Of privacy. Of respect for his wishes. Unbothered, untouched, and unruffled.

    As if Hannibal could see this like it was written across his face in bold black letters, Hannibal nodded. "I need you to cooperate, William."

    His full name. William. If nothing else could shake him, that could.

    "I don't want to," Will protested, his voice soft and on the verge of giving up entirely. He sounded tired, despite how much sugar he had consumed during brunch earlier that afternoon. "She never touched me."

    "You're a bad liar, Will." It was not convicting. "The bruises don't help support your argument."

    "What does it matter?"

    Hannibal stood then, his spine straightening and the look upon his face softening to the point where there was hardly an expression there at all. "Who do you care about? Give me a name, an honest one."

    It didn't need a second thought. "No one."

    "Alright. Let's assume you did care for someone -"

   "There's a dog," the boy interjected, "named Winston. A stray from my town. I use to feed him, if I could."

   Hannibal, though he did not favor animals in particular, seemed apologetic. "Let us assume Winston was hurt, and you had the ability to take care of him if you could. Would you?"

   Will nodded rather shamefully. He could see where Hannibal's argument stemmed from. "But I'm not Winston. Unlike what all of your men think.. They call me _pup_."

   "If they do so again, I want you to tell me every time they are rude at all."

   Will shook his head. He did not want to get Marius or any of the others in trouble - not really. They were his protection, and what protected Hannibal; though, William thought that Hannibal could have protected himself. He did not earn such valiant respect by doing nothing at all. Yet, Will did not know what he had done to earn that respect, just as he did not want to know what Marcus had said that had angered Hannibal so profusely.

   "Can I check myself?"

   "Can I trust you not to lie?" Hannibal retorted, a certain calmness hiding behind it. He knew the answer without it needing to be answered - and Will did not answer. "Precisely. Would you rather have Miss Bloom or myself prodding, as you refer to it?"

   Will's eyes narrowed into a glare. "You won't touch me."

   Hannibal inhaled deeply. He hated to show irritation, especially to Will, who he admired so dearly. But, his patience was wearing thin. He tried with all his might to keep it concealed. He said nothing but watched the boy before him. An open gaze, vacant of any stated emotion, that rattled Will nonetheless. The child avoided his gaze of caramel colored hues, the color deeper and more maroon. He hated eyes. They said so much but not enough. They said what words could not, and Hannibal's gaze was convicting. Guilt churned in his abdomen, or perhaps that was fear.

   "Will you hurt me, if I don't... let you?"

   Hannibal's posture slackened. "No, Will, of course not." He was down on his knees again, the slacks of his suit most certainly becoming dirtied by the action. The emergency wing was not particularly cleaned to his usual standards. The utensils, of course, were sanitized and ready for any opportune use. The floor was speckled with dirt, even some blades of grass brushed into the corner. The white walls made the room bright, almost blindingly. "You're not some filthy criminal. I hurt bastards like Marcus, not children who have every right to deny others access to their body. The only reason I am pressuring you, Will, is because a thorough check is only beneficial to your health."

   "Did you kill Marcus?" The question was gentle, curious even. "I can never understand when you don't speak in English."

   "It's none of your concern. Twisting the subject will not banish the issue from my mind. I am not so easily swayed."

   "You did."

   Hannibal breathed a sigh, a breath shallow and hot against Will's knee. "I had Marcus' business eliminated."

   Will's lip twitched. "That's an odd way to admit you've killed someone."

   "Miss Bloom," Hannibal called, his voice distant and clearly ending the discussion there, "Will has decided to cooperate."

   "I did no such thing." William's hands curled the scarf tighter around his wrists. "I will not let anybody touch me. All you want is for me to have a clean bill of health so you can - can _fuck_ me all night long, like Marcus said." If the scarf could have been twisted any tighter, Will curled it until his hands would surely be turning blue. His eyes, so perfectly blue in a mass of infinite beauty, swelled with burning tears. They did not spill. He wouldn't allow it.

   Hannibal was caught in surprise, but he did not let that astonishment spill through for William's teary eyes to see. His hands closed around Will's, timid fingers working at prying the material from the boy's grip while his voice soothed and he chose his words with utmost care. "Marcus knows only the art of spilling lies, what he believes will rattle others. I never wanted you for any such thing." He worked the fabric back around once, then twice, and then William's nails closed around his knuckles. If it hurt, it was not allowed to be seen.

   "Will, listen to me." Hannibal's urge was met with the abandoned attempt to spare his wrists the pain. His hands cupped the boy's jaw, the pad of his thumb running against the sharp underside. He refused to tear his focus away from tear-filled blue eyes, ones that looked wide with an unnecessary fear clouded with anxiety. Alana Bloom was careful as she slipped through the door, her heels clicking only once against the smooth tile, but she did not look composed. Disheveled, but she did not approach. "You are in no danger here," Hannibal muttered, his tone quiet as it was only meant for Will to hear. Alana had no part in this, though her sudden disapproving look might have said otherwise. "Why do you think I had Marcus killed? He threatened you, whether you caught on to it. Once Marcus has his eyes on someone, he doesn't remove them. He wanted you, Will, and I killed him because he wanted you." Hannibal rose, just slightly, from the ground. His hold did not falter. "You have been abused once, and that is more than enough. I would never lay a hand on you if you didn't want it there."

   It was similar to admittance that Hannibal did want him, though perhaps not so violently. Will was obvious to it, and Hannibal was thankful that his childlike mind was caught in the chaos of his attack. Alana was too keen to fool. She took a step and as she made her slow approach, Hannibal was leveling himself to be face to face, inches apart from the cheeks dazzling with fallen tears. "All I offer you is my protection and my understanding. Accept it, Will, and you won't be hurt again for as long as I live and breathe, and I will put forth every effort to ensure you are still protected thereafter."

   Alana's hands worked on the scarf. Will's grip was not any weaker, and she did not gain any success in taking it from him. To take it would be to take his wrists with it. Hannibal gave her a single look that was only a plea for her to leave him be - and, for once, she did not argue, for the rapid rise and fall of the boy's chest only quickened.

   "William," he cooed, "breathe for me, would you?"

   Hannibal used very little force to bring William down from the cushioned bench. It had left red marks upon his thighs, which were hardly covered upon the rise of the maroon sweater when he sat upon the bench just an hour ago. Hannibal tucked Will's head into the crook of his neck. His hand, larger than the boy's and more dusted with thin white scars, remained there, covering his ear, digits soothing brown curls beneath the touch. Alana opened her mouth to speak, but whatever she wanted to say was drowned by a lullaby. "Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn..." It was quiet, and Hannibal could physically feel Will begin to calm. "The sheep's in the meadow, the cow's in the corn." His muscles released the strained tension that came with anxiety, but Will's hands curled around Hannibal's blazer. "But where is the boy? Who looks after the sheep? He's under a haystack, fast asleep." Hannibal repeated the lullaby again. The scarf fell to the floor, the comfort and pain seeping away with it. Alana did not hesitate to take it into her own hands, turning the fabric over as she examined for something that was not there. "I won't force you," Hannibal whispered, something soothing and calm. Will nodded his head beneath Hannibal's chin, where the slight stubble pricked ever so softly. "Would you like to take a walk?"

   "Hannibal," Alana chimed, "we need to speak. Sooner rather than later."

   The man's laryngeal bobbed with a thick swallow. "Could it not?"

   Alana shook her head. "Long enough to detach yourself."

   "Miss Bloom, you're a remarkably intelligent woman, but you must know it is not wise to leave one in a condition like this.”

   The woman considered Hannibal's argument. Finally, she nodded and gestured to the door, quietly letting herself out to wander in the walkway until Hannibal deemed Will ready to be left for the span of just a few moments. “Do you believe me, Will, when I say I will not hurt you?”

   William was still clinging to the man with a grip as hard as stone. He was upon Hannibal's thigh, who was sitting upon the solid ground, legs unintentionally tangled with the child's. It was no wonder how they had gotten into this predicament, but it was oddly comfortable nonetheless. Will's head tucked into the crook of his neck, catching every steady beat of his heart beneath William's ear. Hannibal's fingers worked through his hair, tangling through the curls, issuing the very same aroma that clung to the scarf the boy had deemed comforting. To think of the progress they had made in just two days, to have Will willing to touch and be touched, it was something that stirred a sense of pride. Alana's outburst had originated from the idea that Will was uncomfortable with Hannibal, that he did not want to stay and could not, for the sake of his mental stability. This must have been a clear sign that Hannibal was good for him. A sign that would change Alana's mind - though, her opinion on the matter was not considered highly. Will would remain here, whether Alana Bloom threatened to expose him or not. His business could crumble into ruins and it wouldn't matter.

    _It wouldn't matter at all._

   Will was softening Hannibal's heart so alarmingly quickly, but the man didn't care. Not now, when Will was upon his knee, cheeks glistening with drying tears and his life very willingly put there, in his arms, to be comforted and protected. Alana could spew the name of every man Hannibal had killed or threatened, even those he had considered. He would kill her if it came down to it, if it meant protecting Will.

   This was, without a doubt, becoming an obsession.

   "No." Will muttered with a shake of his head, the motion faint.

   His heart may have fallen in his chest, but Hannibal merely nodded. Slowly, just as faintly, and just as sorrowfully.

   "You will."

* * *

    Alana was not one to simply disregard a patient on the whim. Will became her patient ever since Hannibal had contacted her. No matter his threats or his choice of useless words, she was not going to back down like a frightened child - and that was what Will was doing. Conforming beneath the man's touch, merely just to survive and continue thriving. Will did not _trust_ Hannibal. There was no such thing as trust with Hannibal. Alana had known him for a half a decade and still did not believe a word he said. She still cowered beneath his very touch, a touch that decayed and twisted things into what they are not suppose to be. She remembered that single night of intimacy whenever she saw Hannibal and it never ceased to rattle her disgusted. One night full of Yamazaki scotch and Brora 1982 whiskey. A night full of flattering lies. Lies that pathetically led from one thing to another. She experienced Hannibal's ruthlessness through intimacy rather than violence. Eight hours, a slightly dented wall, blossoming bruises upon the insides of her thighs, a mind that would never quite tick the same, a heart that would always skip a beat whenever thinking about that bed, and a foolish arousal that always, _always_ bubbled in the very pit of her stomach.

   She chose to disregard the gentleness that came before the ruthlessness. That was her first mistake, but not her last.

   Trying to undermine Hannibal's authority - that would be her very last mistake. Alana wondered if she had already surpassed that line.

   When the door opened, it was ten minutes after she had left. Hannibal was smoothing out the wrinkles on his shirt and sweeping the dirt off of his slacks. Finally, when he straightened his tie, Alana knew she was allowed to speak. "This isn't healthy."

   "The alcohol that I can smell on you from here, or Marius smoking just outside the door?"

   Twisting the subject - something she expected, but was irritated by regardless. _"Will."_

"That would be why, my dear, I called you here." Hannibal's steps were swift as he neared her. Even his touch was compassionate as he retrieved the scarf from her grasp. "The bruise above his pelvis was from the week prior. His mother threw a prescription bottle at him with remarkable strength, I should say. His arms are speckled with crescent bruises from his mother's grasp. Will explained it was only when she was angry."

   It took a great deal of control to keep her amazement hidden. She had tried to pry such explanations from the boy for an hour, with nothing more than a nod being given in response. Will had been speaking to him. Sitting in his lap. Being comforted and - it wasn't jealousy. Alana was not jealous of Will's progress, but angry that Hannibal had surpassed her. He had accomplished more with her patient than she had.

   "Her boyfriend..." He continued with a grimace at the title, "gave the harder hits. He broke two of Will's ribs and from what I felt I believe one has not healed properly. That is for your assessment, of course, as you are the certified doctor." Hannibal said so with a faint smile, one that stated his mind was clearly elsewhere. "His cuts on his palms are of his own doing, evidently from his nails - hence the need for the scarf. The other bruises are from Viola's lover. Punches, hits, kicks, whatever you might imagine."

   "Hannibal."

   "Yes, Miss Bloom?"

   "Do you plan on finding him?"

   Hannibal feigned a quizzical look. "Who?"

   "You're quite aware of who I am speaking of."

   "Ah, yes." Hannibal's hand closed around the door handle leading to where Will still resided. He twisted it and pushed, and the door opened on its own accord. Will was seated on the floor, his face hidden between his knees. "I am, but you must have already guessed that."

   "Have you considered that under your roof, there is no possible way he could have access to him?" Alana asked, her heels clicking against the floor as she cautiously approached the small space William occupied. He did not move. "Or does that not matter?"

   "Mr. Bernard never saw the children he sold and terrorized."

   Will shifted.

   "Mr. Bernard?" Alana questioned, her gaze narrowing at Hannibal who still stood in the doorway, hands tucked within the pockets of his blazer.

   Hannibal's lips pulled into the reminisce of a smile. "Marcus Bernard."


	7. Neglect

   It had been two days since Will's last breakdown and he considered that a great feat. Hannibal was sure to remind him of such with unnecessary pampering, tender smiles, and gentle comments of just how well he was doing; Hannibal never said _what_ , but always said so with an odd expression adorning his aged features. Something that wasn't natural, that Will could not quite figure out. It merely looked like a thousand emotions twisted into one smile, something that Will found to be more complex than it needed to be.

   The anxiety attack that had riddled him again was during the quiet of night. He was alone in his bedroom, or what he considered to be his own; escaping Hannibal seemed like a foolish idea now, so he was beginning to label everything that Hannibal claimed to belong to him as _his_. It was peculiar to think that someone as mysteriously dangerous as Hannibal Lecter would want to provide for him. Will still couldn't wrap his head around the idea of it. His mother didn't try. It was drugs, alcohol, and sex. To Hannibal Will was as fragile as a porcelain doll but as righteous as the heart of a lion. Small and defenseless, terribly dependent though he didn't realize it himself. Hannibal wanted to be his all and only, and Will was overwhelmed.

   He must have been loud, in some way. There was no other way that Hannibal could have known that Will was in need.

   Not unless he had cameras, but that idea was banished as quickly as it was there. Will wouldn't want to believe it even if it were true.

   Hannibal had sat upon his bed and was motionless for a matter of moments as Will was curled into his own protective ball. He had been crying ten minutes before, but now his eyes were too dry and stung too terribly to issue another burning tear. He was just as motionless, just as silent. Still, he did not utter a word of protest as Hannibal's hands closed around his waist and pulled him near.

   For however long, Will laid with his head on Hannibal's lap, fingers combing through his hair as they often did. Neither said a word, as neither needed to. It was a mutual agreement that they both understood each other's needs and limits, and both respected it. Time was not of importance and Will had drifted to sleep at one point or another. Whenever he stirred Hannibal was there, brushing his knuckles down William's bare arms, hushing him if he felt that he needed to.

   The second time Will had needed the assistance was a week later. Hannibal had barely been there throughout the week and Will hadn't appreciated that, despite how much he ensured Alana Bloom that he was fine and not in need of Hannibal's presence every moment of every day. No matter how much he reassured her, he was thinking about Hannibal almost constantly. Just the previous day he had watched Dirty Dancing, and somehow in the midst of watching it he found himself missing Hannibal and even left the film running to find Matis to inquire where _"Mr. Lecter"_ had gone. When Hannibal did return he still had his jacket on and his hair was swept and damp from the rain and wind. Will was in Hannibal's bed, sound asleep with Hannibal's pillow cradled between his thighs and another twisted beneath the hold of his arms.

   Hannibal recollected the sight many times the next day as a fond memory rather than a pang of guilt.

   Will, however, could hardly recollect it at all.

   "I've been thinking, Will..." Hannibal spoke over the rim of his glass, red wine swirling within the confines. Will quirked a brow as an encouragement of his attention, and it was after Hannibal tasted his new and twenty-year aged wine that he continued on. "I need your opinion on the idea."

   "Well,” Will retorted, "what do you need my opinion on?" 

   Hannibal smiled kindly, the corner of his mouth twitching into the shape. "You have trouble sleeping."

   "That much is obvious."

   His smile changed into that of amusement. Such talk would have bothered him if it came from anyone else. "I found you in my bedroom," he continued, "fast asleep."

   Will nodded slowly, his fork clicking against the table as he placed it back upon the surface. An embarrassed blush was rushing up his neck, prickling his cheeks, coloring the tips of his ears. "I'm sorry. I don't remember going in there. It won't happen again, I promise."

   Hannibal silenced him with a raise of his hand. “I don’t take offense, Will. I don’t want you to think that. I told you everything here is yours, and I do mean that very sincerely.” The man’s tongue dragged across his bottom lip, an action that Will watched most intently. “I am just concerned on arrangements.”

   “What arrangements?”

   Red wine passed his lips again, the swallow of the liquid deliberately slow. Will couldn’t tell if Hannibal was trying to milk his impatience, but the boy was still and silent. Waiting, buying his time before he asked the questioned once more. Hannibal didn’t take the time to ponder on it again. “Sleeping.”

  The simple reply stayed dangling in the air.

   Will sighed, a mere breath that was tired and only slightly irritated. “What do you mean by sleeping, Hannibal? I understand I have trouble sleeping some nights. If it’s medication you want me to take–”

   “No.” Hannibal was quick to counter the prospect the moment it began to leave Will’s lips. “There is no need for medication. There’s a simple remedy.”

   Will stood from the seat. He had been sitting across the table, which created a few feet of distance between the two men. They had been liberally picking at their soup that Hannibal had prepared, both quite obviously bothered by different troubles. Will was irritated with himself for _missing_ Hannibal and Hannibal was curious about the solutions to William’s restless nights. Now Will was seated in the chair beside Hannibal, knees touching and eyes looking directly into one another’s. Will’s hues were a swirl of deep blue and Hannibal’s a curious shade of maroon. They were always changing from caramel brown to the same deep shade of red depending on the lighting and it was rather fascinating. Beautiful, even.

   “A magic tea? I’ve already tried plenty–“

   For the second time that evening, Hannibal interrupted him. “I don’t know if you have come to the same conclusion, Will, but I notice that you feel most at ease in your sleep when I am there with you.”

   Will swallowed thickly. He eased his gaze away from the man before him to the wooden door leading to the kitchen. He remembered, briefly, when Hannibal fought with Alana at the same table they were seated at over whether Will was comfortable being around Hannibal. Will couldn’t pitch in with his own opinion for various reasons, but pointedly because even then he was not entirely sure on how he felt about Hannibal. “I can see where you’ve gotten that idea.”

   “Is it wrong?”

   Will swallowed again. “No... No, I suppose it isn’t.”

   Though it was not visible or possible, Hannibal’s stomach fluttered. “Then–”

   It was rude and ignorant, but it was William who interjected this time. He was blunt in asking and did not use a tone that was filled with fake sweetness or innocent curiosity, but a tone of voice that sounded convicting more than anything. “Where have you been going lately?” Hannibal took notice to the slight crack in his voice. Still, he did not interrupt. “You leave after lunch and return to make dinner, if it’s not already prepared. Then you leave again. Some times I can hear Darius talking to you when you walk by. When you come into my room I can feel the bed dip if I’m conscious enough. You don’t return until two, sometimes three. Where do you go?”

   Hannibal did not take it as conviction - not really. He looked at Will with admiration and wonder, as if Will’s offense was most endearing. He could have leaned over and kissed him. He would have if certain forces didn’t advise against it. Will’s concern created a flurry of an assortment of emotions within the pit of Hannibal’s stomach that he hadn’t felt in years - if not ever before. “Work.”

   Will’s fingers curled into a fist upon his lap. “That’s all you’re going to give me? Work?”

   “That’s all you need.”

   “I deserve more than that,” Will retorted, “I deserve a full explanation.”

   “You think you deserve my undivided attention. That is what you believe you deserve.” Hannibal leaned forward, his knee moving an inch further between Will’s open thighs. “I could give you any lie for an explanation, and that is what I will do. I won’t ever tell you the truth, Will, and that is why I must ask you to never ask about my whereabouts again.”

   Will tried to drop his head, but Hannibal’s hand wouldn’t allow it. The man’s fingers were beneath William’s chin, the touch only a ghost.

   “Did Matis tell you?”

   “That you asked for me?” Hannibal nodded. “What did he tell you?”

   Will sniffled. “He said you were working late so you could be here tomorrow.” A short pause, one that went uninterrupted. “But you were gone then, too.”

  _He was missing him._

   “I would always be here if I could, Will. I must work to make money, the money I use to provide for you.”

   “Viola said the same thing.”

   The statement was cold and detached. Hannibal, a man that was the emboidement of composure, flinched. He wouldn’t even call Viola his mother. The prospect was as pleasing as it was worrying.

   Hannibal slipped down to his knees before Will. It was a position he found himself in rather often. “Viola and I have different ideas of providing. I have given you a stable roof, clothes, meals, protection – protection from her and that retched man she loved.”

   “But I want you _here_.”

   Another flutter. Another thick swallow. Dinner was disregarded rather quickly thereafter, but so was the conversation. Darius had entered the dining hall without a knock or word of warning. The expression on his face was unreadable, but both Will and Darius were well aware of how they felt about one another.

   “The car is ready, Mr. Lecter, and tonight can not wait any longer.”

   They _loathed_ each other. Will’s hatred of the man was seeping deeper into his bones, the annoyance of his presence burying further to be more profound than annoyance.

   Hannibal breathed a breath close to a sigh. His hand fell from Will’s chin to his knees, the pad of his thumb rubbing a thoughtless shape into the skin and bone. “Would you meet me here tomorrow, Will, at the same time? I hate to tell you after this discussion that I cannot return tonight. Matis will be here if you need anything at all. I understand you two get along rather well and I don’t want you to feel neglected while I’m away. He’ll take you where you want to go, in reason.”

   It was to both of their surprise, but William’s hand fell to rest over Hannibal’s far more scarred and far larger one. “Can I sleep in your bed?” Will asked, the question most innocently given.

   “Sleep there. Wear something of mine to bed if you’d like.” Hannibal pressed his lips to Will’s temple. “Don’t call, otherwise you might tempt me to leave certain things undone. Just because I have to leave I’ll give you something special when I return.”

   “It’s only for a day, Hannibal…” It was muttered with a smile, but drenched in a dreaded loathing of the next day and particularly the hours to follow.

   “Mr. Lecter.” It was Darius. “Now, preferably.”

   A final brush of the lips was given to Will’s hair and Hannibal was gone, the mutter of a goodbye lingering between them and the scent of him still brisk in the air.

* * *

   Matis was considerably more kind, as Will noticed, in the following hours after dinner. He was considerate in asking what Will wanted, but he was still defiantly reluctant whenever Will asked where Hannibal had gone so quickly that it caused it to be more important than himself.

   Matis was, of course, perfectly aware of how attached Will had grown to his boss - and just how fond Mr. Lecter had become in return. It was annoying, in a way, to see them spell-bound by one another. To witness it, hear of it, silence the whispers spreading throughout the vast household. The maids were often discovered discussing why they hadn’t found any rumpled and sex-ridden sheets yet, and placing bets as to when they would ‘accidentally’ walk in on Mr. Lecter “humping” the boy.

   He could say it a thousand times more until his last breath, but nothing would stop the rumors. Particularly the gossip spreading about Will’s disorder.

   The men enjoyed poking fun at it, Darius being the cause of most of it. It was painful to hear it in that he found himself becoming protective over the boy, but furthermore painful that he couldn’t stop it. To override Darius’ authority was to place himself on a very explicit death list, with his name written in bold letters on the top.

   Still, as Will was laying in Mr. Lecter’s bed, he was denying the prospect of his boss doing anything terrible as he was out and about during the night hours.

   Will, of course, was not buying any of it. “Is he stealing something?”

   “No.”

   “Killing someone?” Will inquired, his gaze perfectly content on the book he had stopped reading ages ago.

   Matis answered the same as he had since he entered the bedroom. “No.”

   The boy’s brow furrowed. “If he’s not robbing or killing, I’m left to assume he simply doesn’t want to be around me.”

   “You know that isn’t true.” Matis argued in a mumble. “He _likes_ you.”

   Will hummed in his throat, the sound carrying for only a matter of moments. “Would you lie to someone even if you liked them?”

   “ _Dievas, išgelbėk mane_.”

   Will peered up then. He licked his lips, spine straightening as he sat up. “Where are you from, Matis?”

   “Lithuania,” Matis replied, “the outskirts of it.”

   He nodded slowly, his mind trying to visually picture where Lithuania was located. A European country bordering Poland. Former Soviet nation. Will began to understand why he had mistaken the language as Russian. “Is that where Hannibal is from, too?”

   Matis nodded and chose not to elaborate.

   Will was merely overjoyed to finally know what language Hannibal often conversed in, and what dialect he should begin studying. “So, this is a foreign gang?”

   “Gang?” Matis snorted. “This is not a gang.”

   "Mafia, then.”

   “Nor is it a mafia.” Matis glanced down at his watch. “It’s eleven. Time for bed, little pup.”

   “That’s what you called me when you had a gun to my head.”

   Matis sighed in exasperation. “Yes. Fond memories. Now, _please_ , go to bed.”

   Will was reluctant to drop on to his back again, but he did so regardless of his hesitations. He could stay awake all night - it wouldn’t be be the first all-nighter he’s pulled. If he didn’t sleep, he couldn’t have any nightmares. If he didn’t have nightmares, he would, in return, not find himself needing Hannibal to curl up against.

   Matis did not stick around to argue. Instead, he rushed from the room before Will could speak his protests. It left Will in an uncomfortable silence in which he could think endlessly.

   His immediate thought was that he could bathe in Hannibal’s tub. As pleasing as it did sound, Will found himself unwanting to move. He was comfortable laying upon Hannibal’s bed, where the sheets were probably worth more than he was and there was more than enough room for him to stretch his limbs. He was, in fact, doing just that. He breathed a sigh as his back arched off of the bed, Hannibal’s oversized t-shirt riding up the expanse of his stomach. He felt no shame in wearing Hannibal’s clothes, or being in Hannibal’s room, or considering snooping through Hannibal’s personal belongings.

   He didn’t, having again decided he didn’t want to leave the warmth of the silk-like duvet.

    For eight hours he did not leave the bed, merely because he simply didn’t want to. Matis delivered a platter of breakfast to the room and Will was sure to give his thanks, but even then Matis did not stick around - claiming he had an “angry wife and an angry child waiting at home.”

   Will wasn’t bothered by it.

    At two, just after Will had finished picking at his lunch, Alana Bloom called to check in on him - at Hannibal’s request. Will bluntly explained that he was perfectly alright and relaxing in the tub at that moment, though he was truly in town with Beverly Katz, one of the few women Hannibal employed. They were shopping for Hannibal. Will was easing up to her faster than any other and he was finding himself to be having a grand time - smiling, laughing, giving jokes. He and Beverly were sitting in a corner ice cream parlor, bags upon bags of gifts in the SUV waiting outside.

   It wasn’t just any shopping - it was Christmas shopping. Will had picked up enough about Hannibal to know what he might like, and Beverly was cunning enough to know how to surpass Hannibal’s eye that was always there, whether he was joining in person or not. Darius was no doubt grumbling in the car at the indecency of it all - having to drive a _child_ around to buy gifts for his boss. It was beneath him, but explicit orders to do what Will wanted were _very_ explicit orders. It didn’t stop him from hating it.

   “What’s next?” Beverly asked over the spoonful of strawberry ice cream nearing her lips. “We got him new cuffs, new ties, that awful bowtie you wanted to get him.”

   “What else does he like?” Will was eating classic chocolate ice cream, despite Beverly telling him to explore the varieties.

   Beverly hummed in thought as she cleaned the spoon. “He likes you, so we should buy stuff that you like.”

   The sun was beating strongly enough that it hid the foolish blush creeping its way up. “I can’t be a Christmas gift.”

   Beverly raised her brow incredulously. “I could gift wrap you and put a big bow on top of your head. I’m sure Lecter would love to unwrap you.”

   Will _almost_ dropped his ice cream. “What is that suppose to mean?”

   " _Hannibal likes you_.”

   Will managed to catch a drop of melting ice cream with his tongue before it slipped from his cone. “I’m not… having _sex_ with a forty year old man. One who’s like a father figure, at that.”

   Beverly laughed. “Lecter is fifty, and he’s more like a sugar daddy if you ask me.”

   Will’s cheeks only heated to a deeper color. “Well… he’s aged well, I guess.”

   Beverly tossed her empty bowl of ice cream into the nearby trash bin. Will did the same with his uneaten cone. “You have nothing to say about the fact that i just labeled him as your sugar daddy?”

   “Saying he’s my sugar daddy implies that he wants sex. Hannibal doesn’t want sex, otherwise he would have made a move.”

   Beverly appeared amused. “Do you know what eye-fucking is?”

   Will suddenly felt like he was burning alive. “Beverly, please shut up.”

* * *

   Dinner was eaten at Lecter Manor, as Hannibal had prepared a dinner in advance, though Hannibal did not show as he had promised. They ate takeout.

   Matis butchered the meal and forced Will to promise not to tell Hannibal.

   Will retreated to Hannibal’s bedroom shortly after finishing his meal. It was not nearly as extravagant or exquisite as the meals Hannibal had been preparing, but he devoured it nonetheless. It was greasy, filling, and then overfilling. Will opted for taking a bath.

   As he was enveloped in slightly burning water, Will pondered over the idea of sex with Hannibal. It was considerably odd to think about doing anything intimate with someone thirty-four years his senior, and someone as resided as Hannibal Lecter - a man he had only known for ten days.

   It wasn’t repulsing. Simply, just, and only _odd_.

   Will had lost a considerable amount of time in the bath. By the time he realized just how long he had spent inside, his mountain of bubbles had dissolved and the water was particularly cold. As he clambered out and pulled Hannibal’s shirt over his head, skin dripping and all, he decided he found Hannibal attractive.

   He didn’t have the attractiveness that one found in top-paid models. His features were distinctly foreign, his accent just the same, but he was still very pleasing to look at. There wasn’t anything unattractive about him. He was well-built and never looked unkept or uncaring of his appearance. Hannibal reminded Will of the Ancient Greek sculptures he had seen pictures of in his book about the the Louvre. Chisled features, perfectly unique, and never boring. Hannibal aged, as he had heard his mother once say, “ _like fine wine_.”

   As his feet touched the carpet, Will was taken by surprise. He found Hannibal standing near the closet in the far side of the room, his tie slipping through the buttoned collar of his shirt. He looked disgruntled with a frown shaping his mouth, the action of folding his tie rather aggressive. He hadn’t seemed to have noticed that Will was there.

   And that obliviousness was taken advantage of.

   The carpet made for a quiet step. Will was soundless as he approached from behind and equally as hesitant. If Hannibal was angry, he could risk making him further irritated. Will knew it was only destructive to have Hannibal’s anger directed towards him, so the idea of upsetting him was still lingering there - even as Will’s arms wrapped around Hannibal’s waist from behind.

   Perhaps it was the lack of Hannibal the past week, or the mood the bath had put him in, but Will was feeling affectionate.

   Hannibal didn’t turn, nor did he say anything at all.

   “How was work?” He didn’t ask what work was. He knew better than that.

   Hannibal’s fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt, one by one slipping through. “Typical.”

   Will nodded. “You’re tense.”

    “You’re not.”

    Hannibal’s hand brushed against Will’s, and Will removed his to work at the last two buttons. “What upset you?” Will asked, his hands finding Hannibal’s wrists after undoing those two buttons to work on the cuffs. “You can’t tell me nothing.”

   “It was nothing.”

   Will wouldn’t allow his irritation to slip through. He would make every effort to ease Hannibal’s mind, no matter how unwilling Hannibal decided to be. “I went out with Beverly today. We got ice cream." Hannibal considered telling Will he knew, but he decided to let the boy continue as he liked. "She's nice. Reminds me of one of my friends in middle school. Not that she's immature," Will corrected, "just... fun, I suppose."

   Hannibal turned in the midst of Will's embrace. He caught the boy's jaw in his hands, the touch rough at first before it melted into something close to a caress. "I had to collect money." He was explaining his troubles, though Will hadn't asked to know the details. Hannibal was glad for that, but he still felt like he owed the child an explanation for his lack of presence as of late. He felt guilty for leaving Will alone for so long. Still, it brought him relief to know that Will hadn't dreaded it all the time like he had. "I hate forcing it, but I have more to collect."

   "Oh?" Will was confused by the sudden admittance, but he did not deny Hannibal the chance to explain. It was what he wanted, after all.

   Hannibal nodded. "Not here, but I do."

   It didn't take much to pry Hannibal's grasp from him. Will hardly had to touch the other man's hands before they dropped to his sides. Will crawled across the bed to the right side, where the pillows were rumpled from his constant use. Hannibal didn't follow him but entered his closet, evidently changing in the privacy it provided. "Why won't people just give it back, if they needed it so badly? I always pay what I owe without any trouble."

   Will could hear Hannibal laugh from inside the closet. "I'm just as curious as you are." He emerged in white t-shirt, one that fit nicely enough. It was peculiar to see but Hannibal was dressed in gray sweatpants, the clothing made from what looked like thick wool. "I would presume it's the lack of money in the first place. I simply wonder how people bury themselves so deeply. When do they consider themselves desperate? When they're on the streets, or engaging in prostitution?"

   "Did you ever accept prostitution as payment?" The inquiry was as innocently given as it could be; regardless of it, Hannibal looked taken aback. Not offended, but surprised.

   "Sex is intimate." Hannibal's knee dug into the mattress. He didn't join William. No, he beckoned him forth. "An action shared between two people close and connected in some way." Will didn't move. "But yes. It was unsatisfying so I decided i would never make that mistake again. It was in the beginning of my career. A woman."

   "What did she look like?" The hem of Will's, or Hannibal's, shirt twisted in the grasp of his fist. "I would assume she must be attractive if she caught your eye."

   Hannibal's arm dropped down to his side defeated. "Not what I'm interested in now."

   Will's brow quirked upward, his lips curling into an amused grin. "What are you interested in now?"

   "I'm interested in you listening to me."

   It was against his immediate decision, but Will rose to his knees. "I want you to tell me something and I want you to be brutally honest."

   Hannibal was very aware that Will was testing his patience. He wasn't going to play around for long, but he could tolerate it for the moment. Nor would he allow his demeanor to crack. "If you are going to ask me if I would have accepted your mother's body as payment, my immediate answer is a strict no."

   Will shook his head. "Do you know what a sugar daddy is?"

   He contained a laugh, but Will had seen it bubbling to the surface in that quick moment. "A man who provides in payment for sex. Why are you asking?"

   "Is that what you are to me?"

   Hannibal beckoned again. Will made a point to seat himself on the pillows. "No," Hannibal replied. "I consider myself to be your provider. Nothing more."

   Will drew his knees up to his chest. "Are you sure?"

   The strand of patience was broken as Hannibal got on his knees on the bed. He caught Will by the ankles and pulled, forcibly tugging the boy to himself. Will made a sound of surprise and kicked once, but Hannibal had a grip stronger than what Will could overcome. "Are you sure, William?"

   Will involuntarily shivered. Hannibal caught the movement, of course, and decided to comment on the lack of heat. "No, no. It's fine." Will cleared his throat and swallowed. Hannibal's hands were just above his ankles, unmoving and unrelenting. "I was just... I thought about it after - well, after someone said they thought that was what you are to me. Do you want sex from me?"

   Hannibal finally removed his grip. Will sat up almost immediately. "I only want what you want. If it is something intimate that you want then I am willing to comply. If you only want my money then I am more than willing to give it all to you."

   William pushed at Hannibal's shoulders, the action giving him enough time to crawl back up to the pillows. "Stop avoiding the question. It's annoying. When I asked it I wasn't looking to answer it myself. I asked because I want to know what _you_ think, otherwise I wouldn't have asked at all."

   Hannibal breathed a laugh. It only irritated the boy more, and that was plainly evident by the scowl forming on Will’s mouth. “My apologies, Will. I can’t take you as serious as you’d like when you’re angry. It reminds me of a kitten.”

   A pillow hit Hannibal square in the chest.

   “What’s gotten you in a mood?” Hannibal asked, his tone airy and careless. His hands clutched the pillow. “I was told you didn’t sleep at all last night. I hope you’re beginning to feel just how foolish that idea was.”

   Will stood from the bed, and Hannibal watched. “I hope you’re beginning to feel guilty for leaving me all the time.” He looked over his shoulder and found the room empty of his previous company. Will panicked for a single moment before Hannibal emerged from the bathroom doorway, a white towel held in his hands.

   “You miss me. That’s what has put you in such a mood.”

   Will scoffed. “You can’t help wanting company. It gets lonely in a house this big - one that I’m hardly allowed to explore.”

   Hannibal was approaching him in slow steps. Will hadn’t moved from the bedside. “I don’t think it’s simply just company that you want.”

   “Oh? What is it, then?”

   A sound passed Will’s lips in the rush of being forced down on to his back, his head hitting a pillow that he could have easily mistaken for a cloud. He cursed then, earning himself a tsk from Hannibal.

   “You want my attention. All of it. It’s a shameless thing, really.”

   Hannibal was hovering over him, the man’s elbows dipping the mattress. Will could feel his breath hitting him. Mint, whiskey, and something sweet all mixed into one. “Well, you can’t take someone in and then never see them. It’s rude. Very irritating, might I add.” The proximity should have bothered him, but Will found his neck cranning up inch by inch with each given word. He was, perhaps, an inch from Hannibal’s lips when a grip in his wet hair pulled his head back. Will grunted but gave no other sound to make his disappointment evident. “You weren’t there for dinner, either. I dressed special and you didn’t bother showing.”

   “Oh?” The towel that had been in Hannibal’s hands before was above William’s head. “What did you wear?”

   “Exactly what I’m wearing now, expect I was wearing jeans.”

   Hannibal’s smile was met with the boy’s scowl. “I didn’t miss much, then. I would apologize, but I feel you wouldn’t accept it at the moment.”

   “No, I wouldn’t.”

   Hannibal hummed curiously. The towel was working through Will’s wet curls, collecting the water the child had neglected to dry himself. “Is there anything I can do, then, to earn your forgiveness? Or is my boy feeling too stubborn to comply?”

    _My boy_.

  Will noticed his stomach began to feel odd.

   “I get to decide when you leave tomorrow. Everything will wait until I say so.”

   Hannibal nodded. He complied far faster than Will would have guessed. “Would I be wrong to assume that I won’t be leaving at all tomorrow?”

   Will grinned.

   “No, you wouldn’t be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> (Lithuanian) Dievas. išgelbėk mane.  
> \- God, save me.  
> Apologies for the long wait! University was busy with essay after essay and exams after exams. I’m on holiday now, only I’m going out of state for the next week. I hope to update more frequently than I have been. Again, I apologize.  
> And, as always, kudos and comments/thoughts are deeply appreciated!


	8. Bedelia du Maurier

   Will hadn't stopped talking.

   By three in the morning, Hannibal was drowsy and hardly giving a reply. Will, of course, was not appreciative of the silence that was given. He nudged Hannibal's side with his elbow, earning a grunt in response, and tugged at Hannibal's shirt whenever he didn't receive a grunt or a shift in position.

   Hannibal felt that if he never did pull William into his side and force the boy's cheek against his side, he may have never gotten a wink of sleep at all. By four he had began to wonder if that was the boy's plan; keep Hannibal up until the morning hours so he would be too drained to argue over the concept of work. It was working, in any case. When William was wide awake at nine Hannibal was fighting sleep with slow and heavy winks, a hand holding Will's chest back so the man could have a moment of peace. Will took to saying Hannibal's name repeatedly until his companion finally rolled on to his side and muttered a very tired, slightly irritated " _what?_ "

   "I wanted to tell you that your phone went off."

   Hannibal used more effort to peel his drooping eyelids open. His vision was considerably more blurry than it would have been on any other day he was struggling to wake - which was, in fact, generally a small struggle that he overtook easily. Five hours of sleep was not allowing him to function as well as he would like, and with an energetic child at his side. Still, it was easy to find his cell phone on the bedside table.

   Will crossed his arms over his chest. "Who's Bedelia du Maurier?"

   If it were a different moment, Hannibal would have laughed at how terribly Will butchered the name upon the first time it rolled off his tongue. His attempt at looking stern did not take away from the amusement. "She is a... colleague. It's peculiar that she's calling at this hour."

   Will tossed himself on to his back with a thump. "Why? It's almost nine-thirty."

   "Several reasons." Hannibal dismissed the subject at that, and Will did not argue. He merely grunted. "Would you be opposed if I took this call?"

   The child laid still for a moment before shaking his head. Hannibal had watched from the corner of his eye and took the opportune moment to sit up and unlock his phone. The phone was held to his ear for the matter of two rings before Bedelia du Maurier answered in a brisk and hollow "Good morning, Dr. Lecter."

   Hannibal smiled, though the woman on the other end of the line was unable to see it. "Very. I slept in rather late, hence why I missed your call. My apologies."

   Will sat up. Bedelia was rustling with something. "It's no matter. I have business to discuss; if this is an inconvenient time I would be more than willing to contact you when you are free and willing."

   Hannibal twisted his neck to the source of the arm wrapping around his shoulder. It was Will, of course, his hot breath hitting Hannibal's ear in a most distracting way. "You are quite-" Hannibal's next choice of words was caught in his throat as he was pulled on to his back. In the very next moment Will was curled against his side, the boy's head laying upon the nook between his shoulder and his arm. "Now is fine. Is something wrong, Bedelia?"

   The woman could hear the smile that was upon Hannibal's lips, and Hannibal could practically hear the frown overtaking hers. "I've run into a bit of trouble with a group of - well, it's a gang of sorts. American men have decided I owe them money I never once gave and they are not leaving the matter alone. I cannot do anything directly, as you know."

   Hannibal could feel Will yawning against his shirt. His hand opted for running up the boy's side, which earned him a most endearing and involuntary shiver. "I will gladly help you. Do you know the name of the man in charge of this gang?"

   "He calls himself the Skinner, and that is all I know."

   Will was unrelenting in his struggle to find comfort. Finally, he decided to lay his leg atop of Hannibal's and look up at the man, his chin resting against Hannibal's chest. "I've never heard of the title, so he mustn't have much of a reputation. Regardless, I'll offer my aid for one thing in return."

   "Hm?" Bedelia hummed.

   Hannibal twisted one of William's curls around his middle finger. "Find me the nicest hotel there, would you?"

   Will could only hear one side of the conversation, but he had been piecing bits of replies together to form a conclusion of his own. His brow furrowed in bewilderment as Hannibal stayed silent, presumably to listen to the reply given by Bedelia.

   “Sounds marvelous…” Hannibal finally muttered, a smile overtaking his lips. Will's curl was released as Hannibal twisted on to his side, his back facing the boy as he rummaged for something out of the child's line of sight. The phone was still held between Hannibal's shoulder and his ear, a voice distantly speaking through it as Bedelia recounted the address she had given moments before. The sound of a pen scratching against a pad of paper followed, Hannibal tracing the location in his native script. Will peered over his shoulder all the while, his hot breath a complete giveaway as Hannibal could feel it touching his naked neck. Then, after quite some time, Hannibal said in a dry and drowsy tone "Have a wonderful afternoon, Bedelia. See you soon."

   Will did not waste a moment to spill his curiosity. "Are you leaving?" He asked, his voice a mixture of controlled sorrow and worry.

   Hannibal stood from the bed. "Yes."

   The boy's hopes could be seen dropping. He averted his gaze, blue orbs steady upon the closet door, where Hannibal was unmistakably headed. "Will you be back for dinner, at least?" Of course not; this was a long trip.

   If Hannibal couldn't see it on William's face, he could surely hear the disappointment in the boy's voice. It was quiet and careful, as if he was treading on a thin sheet of ice that led to no where but an endless pit - a pit without Hannibal, as Will was too fearful to sound attached but too desperate to not let his dismay be known. He finally had someone, though that someone may not be the mother he knew he should have been able to rely upon. Hannibal cared, but Will was beginning to wonder if Hannibal was too busy to care enough. It only seemed unfair to promise provisions and attention to a child who had received it so little in his near seventeen years of miserable and lonely life, to only leave for the sake of work. Perhaps that was how adulthood functioned - you had children, an unwanted mistake or a glorious achievement, and you worked to provide. Worked until there were no hours left in the day; until there was not a second of time to spare to care for the one you carried and promised to love.

   That same pit seemed so close and Will was afraid to be hurtled down it a second time.

   Hannibal's silence was deafening in a room already terribly quiet. He didn't disagree, nor confirm William's rising suspicions that were always there, despite having faded the past week. It prickled in the back of his mind, a constant warning to stay detached though he rebelled entirely regardless of what his subconscious advised.

   In the midst of his foolish worry Will had burrowed himself in the shelter of the duvet on the side that Hannibal generally slept on, as depicted by the slight slant the bed naturally gave. The duvet merely had a lump beneath it, a boy who was curled in a ball and waiting for exactly what followed next - the thump of a suitcase tossed upon a bed.

   Hannibal was unmoving. He stared at what he knew was Will, limbs caged around himself as if that would block out the rest of such an unfair world. He watched the rise and fall of surprisingly steady breathing, and listened when a sniffle broke a straining silence.

   “Will you help me, Will?" Hannibal’s inquiry received no response, and so he asked again. The ball beneath the duvet became smaller.

    The most that was physically given was a tug at the object blocking him from view. Brown curls became visible, a mass of perpetual tangles that were in need of a trim. Yet another occasion Hannibal had forgotten in the chaos of a hectic week, and yet another tinge of guilt added to what was already a mountain.

   “You can’t expect me to know what you would want to wear.” William moved, strong enough of a nudge to bring the duvet to his nose. “France is relatively cold this time of the year,” Hannibal continued, “so pack accordingly.”

   The tone of voice used was befuddling. It wasn’t gentle, but bordering on what Will naturally assumed to be irritation. He sat up with great hesitance, the maroon duvet held past his mouth, blue eyes peering nervously at the other standing at the foot of the bed with hands tucked inside the pockets of unlikely sweatpants. Hannibal blinked once, and as did Will, but nothing was uttered in exchange.

   “Are you angry?” Will was who broke the tension. Nervousness was dripping from the question - a sound that seemed to have snapped a tendon of Hannibal’s heart. He shook his head almost immediately and revealed his hands in an open beckoning, one that Will did not immediately follow.

   “No, Will.” Hannibal sensed the defeat, but did not allow it to affect how he chose to handle the situation. “I didn’t expect you to assume I wouldn’t be taking you along with me.” He did. How could he not? “I would never leave you for more than a handful of hours at a time. Neglect is cruel, and I know that as well as you. If I was ever angry with you, Will, as unlikely as it is, I would tell you. I would never let you blindly stab in the dark. A small misunderstanding is nothing to become upset over."

   Will followed the next beckoning. Hannibal took the boy's delicate face into his hands, the pad of his thumb gliding over William's pink and plush bottom lip. A hollow breath passed Hannibal's lips and a sharper exhale escaped Will, but neither moved to do exactly as they wished. Hannibal's eyelids closed.

   "Where are you going?"

   Hannibal hummed in his throat, a distinct sound that was met with maroon eyes gazing with little uncertainty. " _We_ are going to Paris, for how long I do not know. I must warn you that I will not be there all the while, though I will try. It is a business trip and-"

   "And you don't want me involved," Will interjected, "I know."

   Hannibal smiled, a sight that was sickly sweet as equally as it was comforting. Will returned it. "Thank you."

   "For what?" Will asked.

   "Understanding."

   The child took Hannibal's wrists into his hands, guiding the latter's grip from his jaw. There was nothing to not understand, truly. Hannibal's business was dangerous and that much William had experienced first hand. He had been an innocent child in the mix of his mother's scuffles, but still he had a gun pointed to his skull. An unsteady hand was all that it would take, and Matis could have surely had a shaky hand. Had Hannibal not interfered the ordeal would have ended differently. It was impossible to control every man, as hard as Hannibal might try.

   Suddenly, Will had the urge to kiss him. Hannibal was a different man beneath layers of expensive silks and his exquisite acquired tastes. The hard exterior was misleading. Will's fears that Hannibal planned to misuse him had been banished far long ago, merely replaced with the worry that Hannibal might leave him. That worry was always present, even when the man was trapped beneath lanky teenage limbs. "I won't go through an airport, that you must know." Will said so with an airy tone, one that was open with an underlying tone as if to say he was joking, though not an ounce of false statement laid beneath it. Hannibal nodded almost absentmindedly, the grip the child had easily overtaken and his hands reaching up once more, thumb caught against the very same plush muscle it had adored before.

   "I've thought it all through," Hannibal hummed, "to the last detail."

   "How could you?" The pad of Hannibal's thumb ran against the surface of his teeth as he spoke, a motion that the man watched in eager expectations. "She called you a matter of four, maybe five minutes ago."

   Will earned himself a smile. "I've been to Paris many times before. I know the area as well as I do here." Hannibal's thumb did not move, not even as Will spoke. He watched every brush of the child's lashes against his cheeks, watched his pupils shrink in the beam of the light overhead. He could have stood there and admired the boy for the rest of time and furthermore, if time itself would allow it. Will was simply, utterly, divinely beautiful. "If not more," he added, "than my own birthplace."

   "Will you tell me about Lithuania?" Will asked. The request was given idly, a fear of rejection laced around it. Hannibal nodded, but nothing more. He seemed too entranced to be fully listening. It annoyed Will, in a way. He snatched at Hannibal's wrist a second time, bringing the man's hand down from his lips. Hannibal snapped back to it then, blinking twice before he nodded again. "What are you thinking about?" This question was not given so fearfully. Will was peering, bright blue eyes swallowed in the shadow.

   "I was thinking about arrangements." He lied. ~~_I was thinking about how you would react if I kissed you_~~. "If you wanted to stay somewhere extravagant."

   There was no hesitation in Will's answer. "I want to stay somewhere entirely unreasonable. The best there is in Paris."

   And Hannibal, with all his admiration and overwhelming love for the boy, did not mind.

   "I would only give you the best."

* * *

 

   Packing was unnecessarily difficult. Will was unsure of what to bring. Unsure of what _pack accordingly_ had meant. He had never traveled out of the state of Virginia; had never ventured further than his old school, which was further even than Hannibal's lavishing home. He was sure there was more thorough planning involved in traveling internationally, though as much as he had wondered he had not dared to ask. This was not Hannibal's first time, he had reminded himself, and quite obviously he knew what he was doing if he was still traveling to and fro as he pleased. The idea of Paris was too exciting to question, regardless.

   It was an hour later that Hannibal finally called Will’s name from the hall, where Darius and Matis were standing with their arms crossed. Darius looked irritated, but that was nothing that was not expected; Darius hardly ever looked pleased, or even remotely happy. Will thought nothing of it anymore.

   “Ready?” Hannibal asked, an arm open for embrace. Will nodded, though the certainty was not present elsewhere. He worried he had forgotten something, that he had packed too much or too little. Hannibal had never said how long they would be gone.

   Then, rather abruptly, Will shook his head. “No. I need to speak to Beverly.”

   Hannibal raised a brow but did not question it. A look was all that was needed to be given and Darius was trudging down the hall, curses directed towards the child surely lingering on his lips.

   “May I ask why you need Miss Katz to assist?" Hannibal asked, his hand closing around William's thin and petite waist.

   Will shook his head.

   Though the curiosity was there, Hannibal did not press. Merely grinned his odd and toothy grin and pressed down the hall with Matis at their heels.

   "How are we getting to Paris? By plane, I know," Will corrected himself, "but if not by an airport, then how?"

   Hannibal disconnected for a matter of moments to hold the door open for Will and Matis who followed. Both muttered polite thanks and Hannibal nodded in return. "Do you think that with all this money, I would have never purchased my own plane?"

   Will's cheeks heated. "No. I didn't think that."

   "Half of my men are already flying there in a separate plane. Darius and Matis will be accompanying us, with Beverly if you so wish."

   Will nodded. "I like Beverly."

   It was a simple statement, therefore it was not followed.

   “Beverly wanted you to know that she took care of it,” Darius announced from an open doorway. “Whatever that means.”

   The front door slid shut behind them. Hannibal was humming something, an incoherent tune that sounded deep and husky in his throat. Will wondered, just partially, what kind of business Hannibal needed to attend to so quickly. He had planned to keep the man in bed all day; envelope himself in his warmth, perhaps even gain that kiss he had wanted so terribly if he sweet talked enough. He had seen his mother do it. The right choice of words could buy you anything.

   "Is there something on your mind, Will?"

   It was Hannibal interrupting his distracted thoughts. They were in the back lot of the house, an area that Will had never ventured to before. He hadn't ventured far, in any case. He knew certain places were entirely off-limits and therefore unpractical for him to even try to explore. The back yard, he knew, was simply a massive garden full of exotic flowers and perfectly trimmed bushes. A greenhouse held Hannibal's own fruits and vegetables. Another building contained breeds of foreign birds, probably illegal and difficult to obtain. Will had never entered there, as much as he would have liked to. Hannibal did not seem the type to have pets, so Will assumed the animals were only for business.

   Now they were in an empty lot, the high tips of the bushes visible just above a tall white fence. Hannibal's plane, unmistakably his, was prepared at the beginning of a small runway. The runway cut into a trimmed portion of woods. The plane itself was nothing particularly spectacular in viewing; it looked like any other small jet. Enough for traveling a small party. Practical for flight and comfort, but not extravagant. It was simply just what Hannibal needed.

   "Hannibal?"

   The man hummed.

   "The odds of dying in a plane crash is one in every 1.2 million. What are the chances that this is the one?"

   Hannibal laughed, his hand clapping against Will's shoulder. He did not reply, which unbeknownst to him was not much of a comfort. Still, Will climbed up the steps and Hannibal followed right behind.

   The interior of the plane looked like it was brand new. Leather seats, glasses at the ready with wine chilling in a bucket of ice. Blankets were folded and prepared, with sets of pillows to match. The luggage was stored underneath. The compartment was illuminated by thin strings of lights hidden between crevices, the slightest shade of blue illuminating from them. The seats themselves looked comfortable enough to sleep in, which was precisely what William planned to do. Flying did not agree with his stomach and they had yet to even take off.

   Hannibal, however, did not settle in one of the chairs. He wandered to the cockpit, where both Matis and Darius had also joined. They were conversing about something. From this distance, Will could not hear.

   Whatever it was, it did not take long. Hannibal was unbuttoning the jacket of his blazer and draping it across the seat when Will turned around.

   “This will be my first time traveling.” The boy murmured, the words soft upon his lips that were even more soft - just begging for a kiss, in Hannibal’s deeper thoughts. Such an action was not made.

   “Would you like to travel more?” Hannibal asked. Ice clinked within a glass, wine being poured in it. It was not red, like Will had usually seen. It was a soft shade of white.

   William shrugged. “I suppose I’ll know after I’ve traveled the first time.”

   “A reasonable argument.”

   It was not enough, and it was burning in his mind. “Hannibal, is flying-“

    “Frightening?” The man interrupted. “The first time, perhaps. As you said, the chances of the plane crashing are one in 1.2 million - an undertrained pilot or a faulty plane, both of which I do not own. Once the expected rattling during the takeoff has ceased, and we pass through whatever terbulance there might be, it’s all smooth and comfortable. You won’t be crowded by people as you would be in a public plane. It’s… flying is peaceful transportation, Will, once you learn that the dangers are little and far and few between.”

   Though the child nodded in understanding, Hannibal could see that his careful choice of words had not settled him. “Would you like to sit with me during the takeoff, Will?”

   The boy nodded again, and Matis announced that they would be leaving momentarily.

    Hannibal seated himself with his glass of wine in hand and, though it was not what he meant when he asked if Will would like to sit _with_ him, William was directly by his side. Hip to hip, thigh to thigh, a hand closing around his.

   Hannibal did not argue. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter full of soft hannigram since I’m late updating,, again.


	9. Christmas in Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very late Christmas-themed chapter, without the suffocating holiday spirit. So, basically a chapter with the brief mention of Christmas.

   "Will, if you don't ease up in the slightest, I might lose feeling in my hand."

   Takeoff had been easy enough. The speed had shaken Will in the beginning but it was simple to ignore. Hannibal had talked him through it. He spoke of the arrangements in Paris, what they could and could not do while they stayed. Certain parts of the area were off-limits, from what Will was gathering, or Hannibal simply couldn't enter them without starting some kind of inner war over territory. Hannibal had claimed his organization was not a gang but as more of a description was provided, the more it sounded like one.

   Turbulence was what had William gripping Hannibal's hand so tightly. They were passing through a storm, brief flashes of distant lightning sparking through the opened windows and rain splattering the view of thickening gray clouds. The chair was not truly large enough to comfortably fit a grown man and a  _growing_  man, but Hannibal had not asked Will to move since the flight had begun - even when three droplets of wine spilled on Hannibal's floral tie because of the tight fit.

   Will muttered an apology, his grip releasing in obedience. He flinched as the next crack of lightning sounded closer than before.

   "Hold this for me, will you?" Hannibal managed to squeeze himself out of the fit. William's hand closed around the glass of wine, perhaps a generous sip or two of the liquids still contained inside. "I will only be a moment," he interjected as he watched the boy open his mouth to speak. "I'll check with Darius to see if we can bypass the storm." He didn't leave the prospect up for argument, for the moment he finished his explanation he was turned and inside the cockpit, the door unintentionally sliding shut behind him.

   Will sank lower into the chair. He hated storms and hated flying even more.

   The door was opening again when Will was making a distasteful face as Hannibal's wine was sliding down his throat, the high acidity of it making his throat burn. As he swallowed a final time, he looked ahead to find navy trousers, a pink-tinted shirt tucked beneath the waist, and a wine-stained floral tie ahead of him - Hannibal with arms crossed. "Did I confuse you by asking you to hold it?" He asked, his jaw visibly setting as he peered down at the boy still trying to sort his expression from the terribly sweet taste the wine left in his mouth.

   Will shook his head, earning himself the sight of Hannibal's digits tapping against his forearm. Then, the man's hand was held out. "Hand it over," he commanded, though his tone was not particularly harsh and only parent-like, "now."

   The boy shook his head again, taking another measure by standing. He wobbled on his feet as the plane rocked with another strong gust of wind and would have fallen had Hannibal not caught at his arm. Will shook away the grip and grabbed hold of the next series of seats, using it as a guide to the small bucket of ice. "William," Hannibal warned. Will shook his head a third time and poured the same wine into the same glass, an action that Hannibal mistook as an act of direct disobedience. Will gave up the bottle of wine with no struggle at all, though he was more persistent as Hannibal tried to maneuver the glass from his hold.

   "Don't be a hardass." It did not make the situation any better, but Will gave Hannibal's chest a push. It was not hard or intentionally harmful, but easy enough to bring Hannibal's irritation up by just a notch. He watched as the latter's brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed. "Sit already, would you?"

   "Will-"

   " _Sit_."

   Hannibal felt belittled to be obeying a child, but he did. The leather chair welcomed him by conforming to the shape of his spine, the headrest beneath his skull. He did not sit as properly as he normally would have but with legs open and knees apart, an expression upon his features that said so very clearly how he was not going to play this game. He stated as much in punctuated words. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I will not allow it to go any further.”

   Will rolled his eyes.

   Rolled his eyes at  _Hannibal_ , and Hannibal might have said something about it had he not been taken aback when the boy seated himself upon his lap. Wine glass in an offer, smile upon his dainty lips.

    “It’s absolutely awful, Hannibal. I don’t know how you drink it.”

    The glass was gratefully taken, and it was then that Hannibal noticed they were in clear skies. Sunlight beamed through the windows once more and it made the child look as innocently beautiful as ever and Hannibal would have taken the time to despise him for it if he wasn’t taking the time to down the wine in one swift gulp just to keep his tongue contained from spilling his impatience.

    “If I ever catch you doing that again, you will not be forgiven so easily.”

    William grinned wide enough that his teeth peaked through. “I’ll be sure you’re not there, then.”

    “I would be able to smell it.” Hannibal retorted.

   Will breathed a laugh. “I won’t drink, Hannibal, nor will I call you a hardass again.”

   Hannibal cast him a glare. Evidently, it would take more than an apology to ease him back to his understanding self. “I should scold you for that.”

   “Perhaps,” Will muttered with a careless shrug. “What would you do? Spank me like a child?” He laughed at that as if the idea was entirely preposterous.

   Hannibal was not so humored. “I could bend you over my knee in an instant if I wanted.” He watched Will perk, just slightly, upon his lap. His long legs were not so freely draped across the chair now, but drawing in. Hannibal’s hand that was not closed around the glass of wine he had yet to completely drink went to the boy’s limbs, long legs open for the touching as his palm caressed through the material of Will’s sweatpants. “It would be the fatherly thing to do. Correct his child when he drinks  _and_  decides to be vulgar for the fun of it.”

   Will was silent, and Hannibal began to worry that he had scared him. But as the boy was sinking further into comfort, he did not seem so appalled. “A father wouldn’t allow his child to sit on his lap.” Will dipped the tip of his middle finger into the bottom of the glass, a fat droplet of wine hanging there. It went to his lips, plush and pink as they wrapped around the digit. “Nor would he rub his son’s legs like they belonged to his lover.”

   Hannibal paused, but the action did not falter. His hand danced down to Will’s knee, trimmed nails writing a word upon the bone. “You use the term lover rather loosely.”

   Will shrugged almost absentmindedly. “What would you consider a lover to be?” He asked, his own hand rising to the back of Hannibal’s head, where the hair was shortest beneath his touch.

   Laughter erupted from the cockpit; Matis had, apparently, said something entertaining. Will did not know what for he could not understand Lithuanian, but he saw a smile split across Hannibal’s mouth despite the man’s efforts to act unamused. “Not what you and I share.”

   Will tipped his head back. It gave Hannibal the view of his entirely exposed neck, his pulse beating beneath the skin. Hannibal had the urge to kiss him. “Why not?” Will hummed, the lump in his throat bobbing with a thick swallow. “I could be your lover.”

   “Anyone could be my lover.” It was a simple statement without much of an emotion hidden beneath it. Hannibal’s hand slipped beneath Will’s knee, where the skin was tender even beneath the material of sweatpants. “That does not mean that just anyone will be. Even I have my standards.”

   “Are sixteen-year-old orphans your standard?”

   Hannibal breathed a laugh. “Why don’t you take a nap, Will? We still have several hours left.”

   “I like talking to you,” he said with a shake of his head, “I never get to. You’re always gone.” He paused, brow furrowing, eyelids opening to reveal blue orbs. “Do you not like talking to me?”

   Hannibal gave Will’s knee a gentle squeeze. “I would much prefer to hear your ramblings rather than care for my business.”

   The boy shifted. His knees dug into the chair, pressed against Hannibal’s hips. His curls fell down on his face, which Hannibal was eager to push back. “Would you do anything I asked?” He inquired, a boost of confidence pumping through his adolescent veins.

   “Yes,” Hannibal replied with a sure nod. “What do you want, William?”

   “Kiss me.”

   Hannibal swallowed. He searched the child’s face for some type of humor and amusement as if the request was given solely as some kind of terrible joke; but Will’s expression was as unreadable as ever, with stern eyes and plush lips pressed into a thin line. He looked determined. He knew what he wanted. The request was given in all seriousness, with every bit of desire meant wholly and completely.

   Still, somehow, despite the same want being buried within a shallow mask - Hannibal shook his head. Will had stated he wanted it, but how far would he go to get it? “No.”

   “Why not?”

   “You’re a child.”

   Will shifted again. His knees spread further, his body closer. Hannibal could feel Will pressed against his stomach. “So? If I was two years older, it wouldn’t matter?”

   A breath passed Hannibal’s lips. “You’re a child,” he repeated. “You have impulses. I had similar impulses, too, when I was your age. You may not regret it, but you’ll be ashamed of it soon enough.”

   Will’s hand closed around Hannibal’s floral tie. “I know what I want as well as I know my own name - I want you to kiss me, Hannibal.”

   The latter shook his head again, though his lips parted in the simple want to reciprocate. “Give yourself time to mature, then tell me what you want.”

   Will was silent for all of a second. “Kiss me.”

   Hannibal’s glass of wine was set upon the table with a clink. “I need to keep the wine locked if it gets you like this.”

   Will’s lips pressed into a thin line. He took Hannibal’s face into his hands, forcing his head to turn back towards himself. “You said I could have whatever I wanted. I want this. If you don’t give it, and I know you want to, then you’ll only be a liar and that isn’t any better than what my mother was.”

   The latter’s gaze was suddenly hard and unforgiving. Hands gripped the boy’s hips, a single ounce of strength needed to lift him from Hannibal’s lap and place him on the chair - alone, inches of space left between his hips. Will did not look so pleased, but nor did Hannibal. “Your mother was a whore, Will. She beat you and never bat an eye at what you  _needed_.” The child didn’t flinch. “You do not want anything intimate with someone over thirty years your senior. Save it for the young ones who can still give it to you like a jackhammer.”

   Despite his anger for being rejected, the smallest of smiles split across William’s lips. “I didn’t ask you to fuck me.”

   Will watched as Hannibal’s jaw clenched and relaxed, the muscle clearly contemplating what next choice of words he wanted to utter. Hannibal chose strategy over giving into what prickled at his skin like an insistent itch. “Will.” Hannibal’s tongue dragged across his bottom lip, his caramel eyes flicking from the boy’s lips to his terribly captivating blue eyes - eyes that could tempt him into any sort of trouble with just a flutter, without a word. Hannibal took his hands away from the arms of the chair as if they stung. “Get some rest.” Hannibal, himself, sounded dreadfully weary. “I will not kiss you, so do not ask again.”

   Will knew, without a single doubt, that he would get his kiss. Willingly, in the heat of desire, that would lead to a need burning brighter in the marrow of his bones.

   He listened, and he slept.

* * *

   They arrived in London by quarter to seven and took the train to Paris. They were at the hotel by nine-thirty, when the sky was dark and beckoning sleep to a child who had a chaotically riveting day. Will was yawning through the halls, his head leaning on Hannibal’s shoulder as the man was conversing in his native tongue, Beverly being just as clueless as Will. Hannibal had booked out half the floor for his men, some being given their position and others were told to pair up and rest. “Booking up the whole floor would be unethical,” Hannibal had told Will, who had given a drowsy nod in response.

   When his head hit the pillow, Will was closer to sleep than consciousness. His eyelids seemed plastered shut, for even as he felt his sweatpants being tugged from his hips, he could not look to see Hannibal behind him. He let his legs be stripped, did not argue when Hannibal pulled his t-shirt over his head, and only yawned when he turned his head against the pillow, soft feathers welcoming him in his tiredness and all. Hannibal took the time to pull the covers over the sleeping figure, press a kiss to William’s temple, and push three stray curls from his heavy eyes. After that, the hotel door opened and clicked shut.

   “Miss Katz,” Hannibal called, his voice low and quiet as he was still near the door, “did you do as I asked?”

   Beverly smiled. It was a stupid question to be asked, as it was her duty to do whatever Mr. Lecter asked; regardless, she assuredly nodded. “All twenty or so - I lost count part-way through. Do you think Will would really appreciate having  _so many_   gifts?”

   Hannibal shrugged. It was a particularly careless action from him. “Perhaps, perhaps not. Did all look agreeable to you?”

   Beverly pursed her lips. “The gaming system I’m not sure about. I’m not certain he’s much of the gaming type. I think he would rather be clinging to your side like a lost puppy rather than fidgeting with a controller and killing virtual people.”

   The smile that Hannibal returned was that of amusement. “Clinging, you say?”

   Miss Katz straightened her shoulders. “You're not supposed to know, but I spent a couple days with Will - while you were gone on business, of course. From what I collected, he’s entirely infatuated with you. It’s rather cute.”

    _Cute_. Hannibal’s grin widened. “I trust your observations, Miss Katz. I hope you have a splendid night as well. Did I pull you from any holiday festivities?”

   Only a dinner-date with the in-laws,” she said with a furtive laugh. “So, thank you for sparing me the embarrassment.”

   Hannibal nodded. “Thank you for keeping an eye on him. I know he despises when I must leave, but alas… as you know, I cannot help it.”

   Beverly’s hand closed around the handle to the door leading to her bedroom - Mr. Lecter’s courtesy for having pulled them from the Christmas season. A bedroom shared with the only other female on the team. “Ah, well. If there’s anything you need, Mr. Lecter, just holler.”

   “Will do.”

   That was their final makeshift goodnight, and the two parted ways.

* * *

   Will wasn’t sure what time Hannibal returned, but it was in the early morning hours. Will was able to peak an eye open to watch as the bed dipped with added weight, and hummed a soft greeting when Hannibal’s hand carded through his curls.

   “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

   The boy mustered enough strength to pull himself to a new position - head on Hannibal’s lap, arms around his hips. His nose nuzzled against the older man’s thigh, absorbing the aroma of whiskey and a faint smell of cologne. “You didn’t.” Will lied. “Where did you go?”

   “I had to meet with Bedelia.” Hannibal’s head tipped back against the headboard, eyelids sliding shut. “Discuss things.”

   “ _Things_ …” Will mused. “Very explanatory.”

   Hannibal smiled, despite his tiredness. “Go back to sleep, Will.” It was easier said than done, of course.

   “Kiss me, and I might.”

   “I told you not to ask again.”

   It wasn’t stated harshly, but tiredly. “I wasn’t asking,” Will pressed, “I commanded you.”

   “Nobody commands me.” Hannibal pried the boy’s arms from his hips and sank lower upon the bed until his head was against the pillow. Still, Will persisted by laying his head on the latter’s chest, his ear pressed above Hannibal’s heart. He could hear each steady thump. “I command.”

   William turned his head. He could have pressed a kiss to Hannibal’s neck if he wanted, but he did not. “Maybe it’s time you start getting bossed around. I’m willing to bet some of your minions would agree.”

   A chuckle rippled through Hannibal’s chest, and Will caught the sound. “I have loyal employees, Will, not minions. You discredit them by calling them so.”

   Will yawned. His eyes watered. “Will you ever kiss me, Hannibal?”

   He could have taken pity, and he did. Playing the game of waiting was not only torturous for Will but to the one who controlled it as well. “When you’re older,” he said, “and matured.”

   “You’ll be older then, too.” A simple fact, but it still managed to sound foreboding. “What if I’ve moved on, by the time you’re ready?”

    _By the time you’re ready._  “Then you’ll have moved on.” Hannibal’s hand moved to finally rest upon the small of the boy’s back. That was how Will knew sleep was near and ready. “And I will be left to regret what could have been, but was not.”

   Will didn’t know what to say, so he slept.

* * *

   Hannibal was not there when Will woke, which was precisely what he had expected. In the midst of business, it was all and only on Hannibal’s mind. Time was of sacrifice. No matter what Hannibal promised, he would be gone in the morning and late to return at night, probably missing dinner a night or two. It bothered Will, but not enough to question it. This was how Hannibal made money, the money he used to provide and spoil. The least Will could do was simply go along without being a brat about it.

   He decided to use the hotel to its fullest extent while Hannibal was away. Firstly, he ordered himself some breakfast. While he waited for that breakfast, Will slipped into the jacuzzi. For the first few minutes he couldn’t figure out how to turn the jets on, and then when he did he pressed the button a dozen times with no result. Finally, when he figured out that he had to hold the button down, he jumped in surprise when the water began hurdling in pounding streams. Surprised enough, even, that he so very gracefully slipped and plunged himself beneath the mountain of vanilla scented bubbles.

   After the brief struggle, it was back to relaxation. Will leaned against the edge of the tub, his hair wet and plastered to his face (and begging for a trim). The neighbors above were being unusually loud, but Will found it to be no bother. He had heard the sounds of good-morning-sex enough times to recognize it and to know how to ignore it. He laughed, even, when the man exclaimed a very cliche “Baby!” as Will assumed he reached his over-dramatized apex.

   That was when he heard an unfamiliar sound. It was footsteps followed by something not quite silent, but quiet rattling. Will turned his head towards the open doorway.

   “Did someone order breakfast?”

   Will could recognize that voice from anywhere. “If breakfast is a middle-aged man, yes.”

   Even from the bathroom, Will could hear Hannibal laugh. Then he appeared, hands pushing a trolley full of the food Will had ordered a half-hour before. “Is fifty considered middle-aged now?”

   Will’s mouth split into a grin. He was truly surprised to have Hannibal there. “You’re right. I requested an old man, not middle-aged.”

   “You need to find a better taste in men.” Hannibal disregarded the cart in exchange for leaning in the bathroom doorway, his shoulder pressed against the metal and his eyes wandering lovingly to the bathtub. “How is my boy doing this morning?”

   Will sat up. His chest was painted in bubbles - thick and thin coatings, some popping with any movement and others persistent. “He would be doing better if you joined.” Will straightened. The curved tops of his hipbone were visible now, along with the trail of coarse hair that disappeared beneath the mass of bubbles. If it was meant as a temptation, it was not spoken. “And if you would bring that fancy wine glass of orange juice with you, he would be just peachy.”

   Hannibal did as he was asked. It was so full, though, that Hannibal lifted it to his lips and took a hefty swallow. It was sour going down his throat, and it took much control to keep his face from twisting in disgust. “Pulp. Is that to your standards?” He asked.

   Will graciously took the glass into his bubble-coated hand. “No, but it will have to do.” Then, to his own surprise, he reached for Hannibal’s belt and tugged. “Do the un-fatherly thing and join me.”

   Hannibal caught at his wrist, though Will could hear him exhale sharply. “If I had the time, perhaps.”

   “Who’s calling on you now, if not me?”

   A sad smile was displayed. “The man I came here to meet.”  
Will sank down into the water until the soapy bubbles reached his chin. The displeasure of being overridden was clearly there, but nothing could be done. “To think I am being left alone on Christmas Day.” He mumbled. “The cruelty of it.” Though he understood, there was nothing from stopping him in trying to guilt Hannibal into staying. Could this meeting truly not wait another day?

   It seemed to have worked, in the slightest, for Hannibal was rolling up the sleeves of his blue-tinted shirt. “Is it Christmas?” He fanned surprise. “I had not realized.”

   Will only sank further. “You are a  _terrible_  father.”

   “I suppose it’s a good thing, then, that I am not your father.”

   Hannibal’s fingers carded through Will’s wet hair, soap lathering between curls. Will thought further of the day, of the hours he would spend by himself. It seemed most dreadful. “If you are gone all day, you must give me a haircut.” It was the least Hannibal could do to make up for his persistent absence. “I’m tired of having my hair in my eyes.”  
Hannibal nodded, though it could not be seen by the one who had requested the deed be done. “Tonight, if my–“

   “Mr. Lecter!” It was the unmistakable voice of Matis, but it was not his usual tone. He sounded as if he had run up the stairs and through the halls to get here. Hannibal shook his hands and droplets of water went flying. Still, his arms were dripping as he walked out of the bathroom with stiff shoulders. “He’s here. I tried to tell him that it would be better to meet at the Louvre like you had discussed, but he’s unwilling.”

   Will sat up straight.

   “Where is he?” Hannibal asked. His tone of voice sounded as stiff as his shoulders had been, and strained.

   “Downstairs. Probably walking down the hall to here now, if I was to guess.”

   Will caught sight of Hannibal crossing the room. “You’ll have to let him in. We don’t have any choice.” Clothes were tossed into the bathroom. “Dress, Will, and quickly. Matis will escort you somewhere safe.”

   “Mr. Lecter-“ Matis interjected. “One of us…” he cleared his throat, paused, and continued. “Someone let it slip why you were busy.”

   Will was watching from the doorway, still in the tub. Hannibal was perfectly in sight, a towel now ceased in the action of drying his wrists. “Elaborate.” It was not a request, but a barking command.

   “It was said that you were caring for your…” The hesitance made Hannibal shift. It was dangerous, although it posed no immediate threat. “‘Little pup.’ When your guest asked what that meant, the one who had told him said it was a boy. One you took along for the nights you weren’t busy.”

   Will could see the anger rippling through Hannibal’s skin. He watched his jaw set, the veins in his arms pop as his fist clenched around the towel. He was looking at Matis, and Will could only assume that Matis was trying with all his might not to cower beneath that gaze. “Give me the name. Stop avoiding it.”

   There was laughter from behind the door. One of them sounded southern. “Darius, sir.” Will swallowed, and Matis repeated the name. “Darius defied direct orders.”

   Hannibal’s chest fell in a deep, surprisingly controlled breath. “Take him to the basement. Close off the area. Threat anyone who comes near the door. Darius will learn the importance of a controlled tongue.”

   Will was rising further out of the water. The edge of the tub pressed against the most private part of him. The rustling of the water drew Hannibal’s eyes to him, but his gaze wasn’t hard. It softened on him, turning into something similar to worry. “Hannibal,” Will called. “Don’t hurt him, Hannibal.”

   “Dress.”

   It was the only thing Hannibal had asked him to do, and Will followed the order as obediently as Matis followed the command to allow their guest inside.

   The towel swept through Will’s hair in untidy sweeps. His face was still wet when he pulled the t-shirt over his head. His legs were damp when his boxers slide up his thighs, settling on the dip of his hips. When he exited the bathroom in nervous steps, their guest was also entering the room with an annoyingly cocky grin upon his lips. He was dressed in black, a gold watch fitted around his bony wrist, with his hair swept back in a coating of gel. He looked like the typical gangster mob man Will had seen in an old film the week before. His accent, however, was southern.

   Hannibal greeted him as he might greet an old, unwanted friend. “Anthony.” He reached out his hand. The tendons looked a dozen times more prominent. “I hadn’t expected you so soon.”

  Anthony, as his name was revealed to be, took the hand into a short-lived shake. Both men had their hands back by their sides. “Of course not. I wanted it to be so.” Suddenly, his attention shifted to Will - wet and stiff in the bathroom doorway, pant-less with a t-shirt that reached mid-thigh. “Is that what kept you?”

   Hannibal turned. Will did not wait for a beckoning. He was at Hannibal’s side, arms around his waist. “It is. I was giving him a bath when you called for my attention.”

   Anthony tsked. Two of his teeth were crooked, Will noticed. “Treated like royalty, are you?”

   Hannibal was quick to gesture to the empty chairs by the fire. “Sit, if you’d like. I have things to do, but you have my attention.”

   Anthony did sit, with legs crossed and his hands folded. He looked like he owned the place, though Will knew that not to be true. “Have I come at an inconvenient time?”

   “Yes.”

   It was blunt, and it made Anthony laugh. The legs of a chair scraped against the floor as it was moved near the cluster of chairs in a wide, open space. Hannibal gestured to it and Will sat. His legs folded upon it, hands pulling at the hem of his shirt to bring it past his knees. Anthony watched as Hannibal rummaged through a bag, a crooked smile adorning his scarred lip.

   Will looked away.

   “I won’t waste precious time, Anthony.” It was Hannibal, directly behind Will. “I have relations with many people, some important and some not. Very few of these are personal, but this one is.”

   Hannibal reached forward to Will’s chin and tilted the boy’s head down. Then, Will felt his hair being carded through by familiar fingers. “Is that so?” Anthony asked. His gaze was attentive on Will, watching as the child refused to meet the eyes staring at him. “Who are we speaking of? I have never had a quarrel with you or your people.”

   Scissors slipped through the curl that was always in Will’s eyes. He smiled, despite his nerves. Hannibal was giving him the trim he had asked for. “Bedelia du Maurier. I know you are familiar with the name, and even more familiar with the painting you stole.”

   Anthony did not look surprised, nor agitated by the accusation. “Joseph Blanc,  _Perseus_. 1869. Is was moved to the Louvre recently.”

   “It was,” Hannibal hummed. “And it is worth millions.”

   Their guest shrugged at that. “What does this have to do with your lady friend?”

   Hannibal was trimming around Will’s ears now. “Are you aware the Bedelia du Maurier is the one who gave the painting to the Louvre as safe-keeping? Something so costly could not be kept in a humble establishment such as hers. For the sake of safety and practicality.”

   The accused raised a hand to his stubbled chin. “It’s a shame then, that a belonging more valued than her life is stolen from her.”

   “It is.”

   William’s head was tipped back. The wet mob of hair was pressed against Hannibal’s stomach, water seeping through the shirt he wore - but it seemed to not be a care. “Why does she seek the help of a foreign establishment such as yours, rather than contact the local authorities about the theft? The Louvre has.”

   Hannibal pulled a thick strand of hair between his fingers, then snipped half an inch away in a clean sweep of the blade. The scissors were meant for suturing wounds but worked for the occasion regardless. “Local police are on a mad chase. That is how they investigate. I prefer order.”

   “That does not answer my question, Mr. Lecter.”

   Will’s eyes slid closed. “Bedelia du Maurier trusts me to handle business that she, herself, can not. To expose her reasons would wound the mutual trust we share. To threat her is to threat me.”

   Anthony’s eyes finally lifted from Will to Hannibal. He stood in that moment but did not approach. He wandered to the makeshift kitchen, where there was a bar stocked with Hannibal’s favorites in alcohol. He chose a simple red wine. “Why is this painting so important?”

   “Why are you so keen to take it from her?” Hannibal retorted. “What significance does  _Perseus_  have to you?”

   Anthony chuckled as the entire bottle of wine was lifted to his lips. “To steal from the great Louvre is a great feat, Mr. Lecter. Bedelia du Maurier was an accidental acquaintance.”

   “If you could bypass the Louvre’s security, there was nothing hindering you from stealing something with more value - the Mona Lisa, for instance. Surely some thick glass and a dose more of security would have been nothing.”

   Anthony shrugged. “Perhaps.”

   Hannibal swept his hand throat Will’s hair. It was a deeper shade of brown when wet; it looked black, almost. “You stole from Bedelia. She does not owe the money you claim she must give.”

   “Do you know how thievery works?” Anthony asked, his tone filled with a sarcasm that created a burning hatred within Will. “Or are you not as greatly cunning as they saw?”

   Hannibal must have seen it, for he twisted Will’s curls between his digits in a more loving way - a warning, of sorts, to not say anything at all. “Holding the painting for ransom. A foolish act of irrationality. Bedelia will not give the money you are asking for, as she does not have it.”

   “But you do.” Anthony said so with his sickening smile.

   Hannibal was not any less stern. “I am the aid to sweep the annoying pest away, not a personal bank account.”

   “For him, perhaps you are.” Anthony nodded to Will, who drew his legs in furthermore. “You could spare the boy some of his treatments to pay what is due.”

   Hannibal was more protective, then. He patted Will on the shoulder and gave a careless wave to the bed. Will retreated there in obedience, and Hannibal joined his company in the kitchen. “Return the painting. That is all I ask.”

   Anthony laughed. “If you value friendships and alliances as much as you say, it’s amusing that you truly expose yourself to value a pretty fuck toy more, and his brattish desires.”

   That seemed to snap the line.

   Will could see it bubble to the surface at a boil. He watched Hannibal’s fist close around the end of the scissors. He watched his wrist flex as if weighing how much strength it could give. And Will needn’t be told anything to know he was being told to leave. He clambered from the bed to the bathroom, where the tub was still full and issuing steam. The door closed behind him and his back was pressed against it.

   He heard a scream ripple through laughter. Will knew who it was.

   Hannibal had driven the scissor’s end through Anthony’s palm.

   “The painting will be back inside the Louvre by midnight of tomorrow. Any print will be swept away.” He pressed down. Blood issued from the wound. “I will never hear of another one of your idiotic men bothering my acquaintances. I will not hear your name on this spectrum again. You will disappear, or I will take more than the mobility of this hand.”

   Anthony was nodding and speaking in an incoherent rush. He was grasping the scissors over Hannibal’s hand, a stream of tears running from his eyes as the pain was catching up in full steam. How many nerves were damaged by the blade was impossible to tell. Finally, another scream gripped the silence as the scissors were torn from the man’s palm, ripping skin as the force of it created a wider wound. Anthony was tripping to the door before Hannibal could even ask him to leave.

   It was when Hannibal called his name that Will peered through the door. Hannibal had tried to block the sight, but Will could see the blood on the counter and the crimson that had dripped to the floor, as well as the trail that led to the door. The scissors were not in Hannibal’s hand.

   Will was staring at the blood. Even when Hannibal pressed the boy’s head into his chest, Will was still seeing it in the black of closed eyelids. The dip in the counter where the scissors had forced through, the trail that disappeared behind a closed door. He could smell it, too. All of it. Metallic copper. His stomach churned.

   “You’ll have a new room,” Hannibal soothed. “All of the gifts will be there. You won’t remember your Christmas like this.”

   Simply stating it did not wash it from his memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is not for sensitive eyes. Won't say why, because that would be a massive spoiler, but just be cautious before reading.  
> Friendly reminder that I do own a Hannibal (double muse of Will and Hanni) roleplay account on instagram in case any of your ever feel like exchanging writings. Same handle as here, that being ourdeceit. I've got plots (this one included, which can be changed to your liking as well) and time now that I might be living off campus and doing online classes. It isn't for certain yet, but I have a feeling it might play out how I want and, quite frankly, need it to.  
> I hope you enjoyed!  
> As always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. Tell me what you think, what you want to see, what you do or don't like! Interaction is always wonderful and completely welcomed.


	10. A Different Goodnight*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explicit stuff, finally. I suggest you do not read if sex is a topic that bothers you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day? Take it as an apology for inactivity. A little gift is inside. I say little, but its a majority of the chapter. In any case, enjoy.

   The room was nicer, somehow. The jacuzzi was bigger and they were on the top floor. It overlooked the busy Paris streets, and in the close distance the Eiffel Tower could be seen in all its famous glory. Hannibal told Will it lit up at night, like flashing stars. Sometimes it was colored. Tonight it would be, he had said, because it was a holiday. Probably red and green.

   Will was quick to return to himself. The gifts had distracted him, unlike what he had expected himself. Hannibal had got him a vast array of new belongings. Will was muttering ‘thank you’ every couple of seconds, being so overwhelmed by the Christmas he had received. His first real Christmas. Sitting by the fire, exchanging looks that said more than a gift could. Smiling, joking. This morning seemed more like a dream than a reality.

   Out of the gifts, no gaming system. That had discretely been sent to Beverly for her advice. Hannibal knew much about each he employed, and he understood that Beverly Katz was a massive gamer, or so said her husband that Hannibal had dined with a distant evening very long ago.

   Will was curled up in the softest blanket he had ever felt; it was like a cloud, enveloping him in warmth and comfort. Hannibal was examining the checkered tie Will had gotten him, and after flipping it over Hannibal said that he loved it. He already had one just like, but he didn’t state it.

   “Hannibal,” Will called, his blanket-cocoon folding in tighter as he rolled on to his back. He watched the latter with his head hanging off the edge of the bed, blood rushing to his skull. It was making him dizzy and light-headed, vision swirling in a incoherent cloud of colors. “Can I have one last gift?”

   Hannibal knew what it would be. It wasn’t hard to guess. He arose from his designated seat by the fire to cross to the bed. He picked the boy’s head up in his hands, thumbs pressing into his fattening cheeks. “I know what you want.”

   Will hummed delightfully.

   “Do you deserve another gift?”

   The boy twisted. He was on his knees now, equally level with Hannibal who was still inches taller than him when standing. “Did I deserve any of the other ones?”

   Hannibal smiled at the retortion. Will was learning. “You behaved well, when Anthony threatened you.”

   “Us,” Will corrected. “If he threatens you, he threatens me. That is the way you see it.”

   Hannibal nodded. “Were you scared?” He asked, already knowing the answer that would follow. Will mumbled a solemn _yes_. Hannibal’s thumb stroked the high rise of William’s cheekbone, a gesture that said much. He had been worried. “You’re safe.”

   “Any man should pray if they threaten me.” They wouldn’t be fearing his wrath; no, but Hannibal.

   Hannibal felt his chest swell. Was it pride? Love? “Anthony will be.”

   It was flattering - hearing of how one would kill another for the sake of love. That was what Will was labeling this as: _love_. He felt something deeper than infatuation or admiration. Hannibal had William’s heart in his hand and he must have known as much. Even the way Hannibal looked at him now, eyes clouded with the slow toss of whiskey and the sleepiness that relaxation gave, made Will’s heart contract in the most blissfully painful way.

   “You would kill anyone for me.”

   It was not a question. It was a statement, given as surely as Will would state his own name.

   And Hannibal nodded.

   Will breathed. It was shallow and quick, as if someone was grasping his neck before he could exhale entirely. Hannibal watched and caught every move. The swallow. Will’s tongue against his teeth. It would have been the perfect moment to kiss him. Hannibal could, right then, simply lean and catch the boy’s lips within the trap of his own. He could have, but he did not.

   “Kiss me.”

   “I couldn’t.”

   “Why not?” The question was given in the rush of breath.

   “You wouldn’t understand.”

   Will sank down. Hannibal caught his hair, his fingers grasping harder in the shortened curls. They were soft and smelled of vanilla. The scent of blood had long since left. Hannibal leaned down to press a kiss to the top of the boy’s head; it was the least he could do. Enough to quench his impulses, but not enough to lose his grip.

   “If I kissed you, I would want to take you.” He could feel the shuttering breath that raked through Will’s figure. Hannibal grasped it, savored it. “That isn’t my right.”

   “It is your right.”

   Hannibal’s eyelids fluttered closed. Will could see it, through the mask of his lashes. “I would want to take you over, and over. But you’re too young and blind.”

   Will was standing. He didn’t know how he came to the conclusion to do so, but it was prickling and he must overcome the fear of rejection. Hannibal had rejected him three times, three times more than he could take. They were only torturing themselves - that was how the boy saw it. It was unnecessary. Foolish. Will couldn’t stand it. “I want you to take me.” It was a whisper against Hannibal’s neck. Thin hands led him down to the bed, forced him to sit, though Hannibal was not so unwilling. “I want you to kiss me and I want you to fuck me - and I want you to love me through it all.”

   If it was the bravery that surprised him or the pure persistence, he could not tell. Lips were caught on his neck, hands just as insistent at the belt looping through trousers more costly than Will could ever dream. Hannibal knew he could not fight what was there anymore. Will nipped once and that was all it took.

   “Do you love me, Will?” There was a breath between the question and the name. Will cast his lips further up the canvas, to the stubbled underside of Hannibal’s jaw. The skin was rough there from a scar and William bit, perhaps harder than he should, and soothed his marking over with a tender kiss. It was wet and cold out of the heat of the fire, and made Hannibal shiver. But he accepted another, and another, and another loving bruise.

   Will fell back with Hannibal. His hands pulled at the dense material of the latter’s shirt, impatient fingers fumbling with the buttons. Hannibal didn’t help; he enjoyed watching such a livid appetite ripple through, making the boy shake, fumble over the last button a third and final time with a shift.

   Hannibal felt it, clear as day, and he savored the single moment.

   Will was already hard.

   But Hannibal was, too.

   It was a blur, the quick shift in position in which Hannibal grasped the child’s hips and made him topple to the other side of the vast bed, knocking the wind right out of him. Will was still breathless when Hannibal’s lips pressed down on his. It was in a rush and certainly not as Hollywood perfect as Will had seen countless times, but time still seemed to slow and he was allowed to relish in the sheer force of Hannibal’s need - as ever present, hard beneath his unbuckled slacks, and tasting of aged whiskey in his mouth.

   Hannibal’s tongue dragged across Will’s teeth, winning a simple fight of tongues curled around one another, seemingly dancing as it was decided that Hannibal had the upper hand, as he always did. Will would do nothing but bend to it; and he was, as Hannibal’s fingers were splayed across his chest. Dusting over old bruises, creating new ones on his hips as Hannibal forced him down because the friction of their middles colliding was too much to bare.

   It was hungry and sloppy. It was filthy, the way their teeth clashed in a desperate kiss. It was so unlike Hannibal in his proper and controlled world, to need to touch Will so terribly that he was devouring him. It was too much to quickly, and Will thought he might break then and there.

   He was swallowing every sound that rumbled through William’s throat. He heard his name when he pulled the rumpled shirt over the boy’s head, and he answered it with a breathless retortion of “Will.”

   The child was left in tenting boxers. Hannibal was still dressed, not even the shirt stripped from his arms; his belt was hanging unbuckled; his hair was luscious mess from greedy hands; his lips were swollen and there was a spot of blood from where Will had bitten too hard in the inexperienced rush of lust - but it was beautiful. “I deserve this.” He was nodding as he said it and tossing his head back. Will’s mouth gasped open and his own hands laid flat against his stomach, fingers pressing hard above his pelvis. He was feeling it now, in full force. His imagination was, no doubt, running wild and free.

   Hannibal was pulling at his shirt so roughly that he heard a piece of it tear. He would have cared at any other given time, but it was disregarded quickly as he was tearing his belt through each loop, metal clanging on the floor as that too was thrown. Desire was boiling so quickly that it was impossible to control.

   Will was dizzy. His shaking fingers closed around the duvet, pulling and pulling until his back was arching off of the bed. He could have shouted and he could have moaned, but rather than doing either he breathed Hannibal’s name again. Again, and again, and again. It wasn’t a prayer or a sin, or a statement. It was the name of what was causing such unfamiliar heat in his abdomen, the feeling that rippled through his veins like the blood that pumped to and from his heart. It was Hannibal, in his entirety. It was the image in his mind, the name on his lips, the heat of his skin, the pressure building so steadily. It was the thought pressed behind eyelids squeezed shut so tightly that it brought splotches into his vision, and the wetness between his thighs. _It was Hannibal_.

   “Will…” Hannibal’s hands were on his knees, climbing up his thighs, slipping past where he experienced the most blissful discomfort, to his face. “Will, look at me.” Will did. Hannibal’s cheeks were heated as if he was still sitting by the fire. The pads of his fingers, thick and scarred over the years, ran across his lips. “Tell me you want this. All of it. No shame or regret.”

    Will writhed beneath the touch. “I want you; and...  _God_ , I feel I might die if you don’t give it to me.”

   The wood cracked in the flames. It covered the swallowed sound Will made when he felt his boxers slipped from his limbs so swiftly and cleanly. He was left naked and hot to the touch; flushed and begging, though he need not beg for Hannibal’s touch again. Hannibal was giving it in all his generosity.

   It was his legs first. Hannibal loved to admire his legs, always smooth and as soft as silk. Despite Will’s time in closed doors, he was still tanned. His thighs trembled beneath Hannibal’s lips; trembled beneath the possessive nip, and trembled beneath the kiss given to soothe the sore skin. Will reached for him but his hand clutched at nothing but air. His hand fell to the bed and twisted around the duvet again. He said something, but Hannibal could not hear beneath the crackle of the fire or the pleasure clogging every sense but touch.

   When his own lips tasted of salt, Hannibal knew he was getting closer to where Will was begging most. He avoided it, still. The touch of his lips traveled up his side, past the indentations of his ribs, lingered by the hard stud of his nipple. Will forced another kiss by the buck of his body.

   Then the shared heat was gone. Will made a sound like a broken cry, his limbs twisting and his abdomen feeling as if it would simply burst. Hannibal shushed him from elsewhere. Muttered about how beautiful Will looked, cursed in Lithuanian when he found the bottle of lube to be empty, and continued rummaging until Will was quite literally crying.

   The bed dipped again. Hannibal was holding three digits against William’s lips, and Will need not be told to know what he must do. He wrapped his lips around them to the second knuckle. His tongue dragged across every inch of skin - between, around, and suckled to the third knuckle. When Hannibal pulled his hand away with a satisfactory pop, those three digits were dripping in saliva.

   “It will hurt.” Hannibal knocked Will’s knees apart with his own. “You must know that before I do anything.”

   Will nodded. He understood. The best things in life hurt, if not just in the beginning. His mother had spoken of it once - how it felt like a blade cutting through, and how it felt like the most wonderful thing when you became accustomed to the feel of it. It was a matter of minutes of pain to endure, and Will was prepared. He knew what would follow.

   The wet finger that circled was cold. Despite himself, Will was tense in preparation. Hannibal must have felt it, for he placed a hand over Will’s abdomen and pushed with little pressure. “It will hurt more if you don’t relax.” He was rubbing in circles, using the same consistent amount of pressure above his aching pelvis. Will forced himself to look past the pain he knew would be there, to imagine what it would feel like after.

   Hannibal pushed. It was slight, but his middle finger slipped past the tight ring of muscles to the bed of the nail. It didn’t hurt too badly. The most Will did was hiss at the suddenness of it; but he swallowed, nodded, and wrapped his legs around Hannibal’s waist to assure to keep him there.

   The first knuckle was wider, and the second more insistent. Hannibal twisted his wrist and began to curl the digit inward. Will bit down on his lip so hard he feared he might have pierced the skin. Hannibal used more pressure on his abdomen, gaze as attentive as ever to watch every twitch of Will’s mouth and every swallow. By the third knuckle, when he could go no further, Will was sweating.

   The boy could feel the cold spit on Hannibal’s index and he shook his head, his legs around the latter’s hips tightening. “Give me a moment.”

   Hannibal nodded.

   Will shifted, an action he regretted as Hannibal’s bent knuckle scraped against the walls of his insides. It was painful and he buried his head against the mattress, the softest of curses uttering past his lips. Still, he persisted and nodded. Hannibal’s index pushed past more quickly than the first. Then the third, his ring finger, made the telltale curl and Will exclaimed a loud “ _fuck_ ” that rang throughout the room.

   Hannibal smiled despite it. “Adjust,” he said. It was a testing of his patience. His body wanted to skip all foreplay, but his instincts knew better. He pulled, cautiously and slowly, from the swallow of William’s hole. “Look at me, Will.” He obeyed. “Tell me how it feels.”

   Will swallowed thickly. It was as if he had a lump in his throat, stuck there in the middle. It made his voice hoarse. “I… It stings. Whenever you curl in, it hurts more.”

   “What about this?” Hannibal spread the fingers apart. Will nodded almost instantly; it was written all over his face, from the quick clench of his jaw to the heels of the boy’s feet digging into the small of his back. Hannibal pulled out to the first knuckle and pushed in with a sharp twist of his wrist, drawing the digits inward with a curl that raked a spotty breath from Will’s lungs. Despite how much pain was written over his body like a canvas, Will did not ask him to stop. So, Hannibal did it again. He repeated until it did not require so much force to loosen the fit, and until Will’s frame was not so tense around him. The hand upon the boy’s abdomen moved. Something tore in the hold of Hannibal’s teeth, but Will did not twist his neck to see.

   Hannibal became distracted. That much was easy to tell as the thrusting motion of his hand ceased. Will wouldn’t allow it. He rocked himself back, willed himself to continue to make the next series of actions as comfortable as it could possibly be. He earned himself the most adoring look from Hannibal above him. “Good. Keep going.” Hannibal soothed back Will’s hair, though the curls no longer obstructed his view since he received a trim. “Try a little harder,” he encouraged. His hand was utterly still. Will obeyed by rocking his hips faster.

   Just when he was at a near pound, Hannibal’s hand was gone and Will was fucking back on nothing. Hannibal watched in deep amusement. Will cried his name, drew him in with an insistent pull of his legs.

   “Are you ready?”

   The question was stupid, but Hannibal wanted to see Will nod his head with a previously unseen eagerness and a broken _yes_. His voice cracked around the word so beautifully, and Hannibal would be sure to store the memory of it. Because nothing was quite so beautiful.

   Will, as vulnerably exposed as he could possibly be, his pretty face contorted into a look that said much without it needing to be said. It explained the want, the pure need to have more. To have all of Hannibal, every last bit of him, fitted into his own palms to hold and keep and store there forever. He needed it, and Hannibal could see it. The boy's legs pulled. His hands curled, nails breaking the skin of Hannibal's forearms as he begged so beautifully pathetically to have what he deserved. He said it again, mumbled it so quickly that Hannibal let time stand still for a moment just to hear it. "I deserve it." Over and over. Filled with a cry as he felt the first breach, filled with so many sounds bitten back by teeth on tongue.

   "You deserve it." He said it as a reassurance, a confirmation that was given with his lips against the child's temple. He tasted sweat and vanilla, the salt of tears as Will had wiped the wet surface of the back of his hand against the skin moments before. "You deserve it, Will."

   And he pushed. It was so gentle that it might not have been done at all, but Will could feel it all. The inches sinking. Skin against skin, because Hannibal had neglected the condom he had opened in the mess of William's cries and desperate pleas. It burned more than anything he had ever felt before, despite the spit that layered on to each of them. It hurt as badly as the bruises his mother's excuse of a boyfriend had given. It brought back those memories. Of glass beer bottles tossed across the room, shattering if he missed and colliding if he didn't. The way his mother never said anything, even as she placed a cold cloth against the yellowing skin that had received the force of impact. She would always go running back to him. Stumbling, begging for the hours of pleasure that she could receive from his hand and more.

   That was when Hannibal noticed Will was crying for far different reasons. The quick pick of his chest, gasps of air leaving his lungs in short and hot puffs against Hannibal's own sweat-ridden skin.

   He knew it wasn't the pain that was fading with each gradual thrust, nor the coloring bruises Hannibal had left.

   Old bruises and old wounds, unopened until he was reminded.

   "Will." Hannibal took the boy's face into his hands, forced those panicked blue eyes to look into his own. Will looked anywhere else. "William," Hannibal said more loudly. It brought the child's fluttering eyes to his. "Focus on me. Tell me what you feel now, not then. Anchor onto me."

   Will opened his mouth like a fish out of water. His voice seemed stuck in his throat, lodged there by a swallowed sob. He begged like his mother. Cried like her, too. His mother had a beautiful cry.

   Hannibal caught Will's lips with his own. He didn't savor the taste like he had before, but used the contact as a way to reel him in. He thrusted harder, had gotten to the point where he could bury himself in without it causing the boy any physical pain. He knew where the attack was stemming from. He had expected it, even. His mother had been so enveloped with sex and all its attributes that she had neglected her one and only child. Will's first time would not be sensual in every way, nor bring him only moments of peace. Hannibal had waited for Will to begin to think of his mother.

   "Do you remember how you wouldn't speak to me for days when we first met, Will?" The inquiry was said against Will's neck, lips brushing against the underside of his jaw with each spoken word. "Then you said goodnight to me, while you were in the bath. I had thought about kissing you."

   Will was rocking with each thrust. He made a sound once, something that was strangled as he had trouble sorting through what to feel.

   "When you came to sleep in my room the first night, I laid awake and listened to you breathe. It was soft. You woke up once and said my name, but you were asleep a moment after that." Hannibal's fingers ran through dark curls and gripped steadily. "The next night you came in crying and I sang you your lullaby." A deeper thrust, and legs tightening upon his hips. "I thought about kissing you, then. I wanted to taste the tears skidding down your rosy cheeks. Did you know that?" Will's spine rose off the bed. "When you cry, your nose and your cheeks turn to this shade of pink that I have started to love. Terrible, isn't it? That I like to see you cry."

   Will was breathing erratically, but it was no longer from any held back sob. He reached for Hannibal's wrist. His head turned, the latter's thumb caught between his lips.

   "You have this... this deposition, Will." Hannibal felt his blood boil. "Defiance. You think you could rule the world, Will, and you could."

   The boy met him with a vulgar slap, thighs slapping thighs. He reached to Hannibal's hair and pulled, silvering strands caught in his unrelenting grip. He thought he heard a growl from Hannibal, but his expression was as soft and as mellow as whenever he looked at him. "I could rule you-" Will moaned, a sound so pleasing to Hannibal's ears that he heard himself moan, too. "I could."

   If there was any space between them before, there surely wasn't now. Hannibal held Will in his hands, palms splayed beneath his spine and beneath his head. Thrusting. Thrusting. Will breathed a word most kitsch. "You could rule everything." Hannibal seized him, then. Grasped the boy's cock in his hand, felt the hot slick beneath his ever so scarred fingers. Will was simply throbbing - hot to the touch and wonderfully sensitive. "Would you burn down the world, Will?"

   It was so much to process at once. Hannibal was pulsing inside him, his grip too firm to allow him to make much of any sense. Will bucked once, then twice, and then a third time. He was trapped in Hannibal's hand, but he wasn't looking for an escape. No, just something more. "For you." He couldn't, and he knew that. A sixteen year old boy could do nothing in the shadow of Hannibal Lecter - but that was just fine. "Fuck, Hannibal - I'd... _Fuck_ , I would do anything for you."

   Hannibal's grip tightened and his pattern faltered.

   And Will cried as he came.

   It was hot streaks against Hannibal's belly. A trembling boy in his grip so inexperienced to the feel of it that it was mesmerizing to watch him topple off that apex. Hannibal savored the sight of it, the feel of it against his own body. Will was shaking and speaking against his neck, teeth scraping the skin and finally biting as his hips bucked into Hannibal's a final time. Not a word could be understood, nothing but Hannibal's name and a string of curses so filthy that Hannibal wondered if this was the same sweet child he had grown to love so tenderly. Will was a tight fit as it was, but to feel the boy squeezing down upon him in the chaos of his own pleasure was too much. Will tightened in time with his orgasm, an equal pleasure rippling through Hannibal as he held on to the boy with all his might, milking every last bit of it as he was so dangerously close to his own.

   When Will's legs fell from Hannibal, he was like putty in the older man's hands. Weak, derailed, and so utterly blissed. Hannibal fucked still, his presence never leaving as he watched Will most intently, catching every swallow that moved down his throat and every breath that puffed past his lips. Hannibal gave a deep thrust and stayed there. He watched. Will's expression faltered and his hands caught at the forearms his nails had scratched.

   He could feel it. The white, hot spurts buried so deep inside him. Every tremble Hannibal's cock gave, though the man stayed unmoving above him.

   Hannibal's breathing was different. It was irregular like his own, making his chest rise and fall in time with each quick inhale and exhale.

   Still, he looked completely at peace.

   Because this was what was meant to be.

* * *

    The wind came in cold gusts. It chilled his skin and made him shiver.

    Upon peering tired eyes open, Will saw that the door leading to the overlooking balcony was open. Just an inch, perhaps two. The curtains fluttered in the breeze and the ends tangled. The lights from the Eiffel Tower blinked in red and green, the colors dancing across the floor and molding together. Moonlight cast down on the bed. Hannibal's side was empty, though the sheets were rumpled and smelled of him. Lavender, wood, and something else. Will ran his hand against the sheets; it returned damp and cold. It had been vacant for some time now.

    Will winced as he stood. His limbs did not quite agree with exertion, whether because of dawning tiredness or the fact that Hannibal had fucked him raw. But it hurt just about everywhere, particularly between his legs.

   It was in that moment that he realized it was wet. He seated himself upon the edge of the bed again, legs spread to reveal a trail running down his inner thighs. He need not guess where it came from. It created an odd swell of feelings mixed into one incomprehensible blur. The one thing he could pinpoint, though, while watching the trail thicken was that his stomach hurt. _Again_. Not a stomach ache, he knew, but something different. And he was hard.

   He had plenty of experience in ignoring it. He had hated the idea of sex - that is, before he met Hannibal and that began to be all that he could possibly want.

   The thought of Hannibal made his cock twitch.

   Will sought refuge underneath the stray blanket at the end of the bed, draping off the edge of it as it had been unwanted in the heated afterlight of sex. Will had felt as if he was burning then, but now he felt like he couldn't get warm enough. He opted for retreating to shut the open door, but as his fingers wrapped around the cool handle, the idea of it was abandoned.

   Hannibal stood in the attire of the slacks he had worn before with nothing more. It was too cold and the wind rustled his hair that was already so gloriously tousled from Will's hands. The thought of it didn't help his situation, nor did he feel any less embarrassed when Hannibal turned to look at him, seeing as how the rattle of the door in the wind had made enough noise to startle him.

   He was smoking, a sight that Will had never seen before and never thought he would.

   "Come to join me, Will?"

   If there was any way to say no without making his situation obvious, or any way to speak without his voice cracking like a boy through puberty, Will would have declined the invitation. He hoped, in some way, that the cold would make the heat between his legs simply leave.

   Smoke slid past Hannibal's lips. He smiled, just slightly. "How are you feeling?"

   "My ass hurts," Will mumbled almost begrudgingly. "And I woke up to a surprise."

   Hannibal's brow raised. "Oh?"

   Will narrowed his eyes at the Eiffel Tower, which seemed so close. He wondered if he could touch it, if reached out far enough, but that idea was purely preposterous. His hands stayed closed around the blanket in what looked like a protective manner, though he was only trying to stay warm and hide his predicament. "Mhm." He hummed. "It was wet."

   Hannibal seemed to have caught on. He nodded slowly, cigarette raised to his lips again. "I would apologize, but it would be foolish as I don't feel any remorse."

   "I didn't know you smoked," Will blurted, "and something as cheap as cigarettes."

   He shrugged. The smoke came through his nose this time, a thick cloud that looked red from the blinking lights ahead. "I hardly do. I don't really need to, in any case. It's hardly an impulse at all."

   "So why do you?"

   "I needed to get the taste of you out of my mouth." Hannibal watched as Will looked confused - eyes ahead, focused on the Eiffel Tower ahead of him. Perhaps he would take him to the top. "They say cigarettes are addicting. Lethal, even. They never said anything about absolutely divine boys."

   He had said it so casually, with another pull of the cigarette afterwards. Will turned, his back pressed against the edge of the balcony. Hannibal's face was a canvas of colors and shadows, but Will could see the fire in his eyes. "Can I?"

   The cigarette paused, though smoke still seeped past his parted lips. The request seemed to have startled him. It had been abrupt, foolish even, for Will knew Hannibal would never let him touch a cigarette. "And corrupt you?" Hannibal flicked the cigarette, burning and all, down to the empty streets. It was the only answer Will needed.

   The boy sighed, wind rustling his curls in a tiresome tangle. Hannibal turned to him. His arms were crossed over his chest, his skin absolutely chilled from having been out so long. Will did not know exactly when he left the bedroom, but Hannibal's cheeks were colored a light shade of pink from the cold. "Would it be of any use to ask you to come inside?" The boy asked, the blanket wrapping tighter around his shoulders. Hannibal only smiled. "I thought not."

   "What woke you?" He inquired in return.

   Will shrugged, though he knew all too well what exactly had woken him from such a lovely sleep. "You weren't there."

   He was in Hannibal's arms in the next moment, cradled there against his chest. Even through the material of the blanket, he could feel the cool stone against his backside. It made him shiver, even more so when Hannibal was prying Will's hands away from the blanket. "Did you miss me?" Hannibal mused. "Or was it something else?"

   Will made no attempt to stop him. Of course he wouldn't. It was so plainly obvious as it pressed up against Hannibal's stomach like the point of a stick. The wind, however, made him shutter. "Jesus, Hannibal."

   "Not quite." Hannibal spread the boy's knees apart. There was his prize, milky and wet between Will's thighs. He could have deviled in the sight, but he carried the child back to the warmth of the bedroom. He didn't put him down, though. Not on the bed, even when Hannibal had his back against the mattress. For once, Will was not beneath him and he felt like he had all the advantages in the world.

   "Was it ever quite so annoying for you, Hannibal?" He thought the other man might not have been listening, or that he might not have understood. "Teenage hormones, I mean."

   All he gave was that stupid smile. Until Will (playfully) slapped his arm, that is. "No. I don't remember it much, I must admit. I had a few infatuations in my youth, some more prominent than others. It is nothing abnormal, Will. The body reacts as it must."

   Will tossed himself on to the bed with a huff. The entire room smelled of sweat and sex and lavender and vanilla, even tobacco. The room was warm now that the door to the balcony was closed. Almost, he thought, too warm to be comfortable. "My stomach hurts." He finally admitted.

   Hannibal moved to his side. He placed his hand, so large and scarred and cold, upon Will's abdomen. "Here?" He questioned, tongue dragging across his bottom lip in anticipation.

   Will shook his head. With a hand covering Hannibal's, he guided the other to just below his belly button, where he felt all of his aches and pains. "Here."

   The skin was warm there. "Does it hurt, or is it just... warm? Tight, perhaps?"

   "Warm," Will confirmed, "and very tight."

   Hannibal's lips pulled into a smile, though the child could not see it as he was staring up at the ceiling. He was too beautiful, in the afterglow of sex. "There's a remedy, though I feel you already know it."

   To his blunt surprise, Will shook his head. "What is it?"

   Hannibal turned his body more towards the boy. The tips of his fingers danced across where Will had claimed he was experiencing discomfort, gentle brushes like the breeze of warm wind. He watched Will shutter, committed the sight to memory. "Do you remember what I did?"

   "Which part?" Will retorted.

   "With my hands," Hannibal reiterated, "Do you remember what I did with my hands, before that same feeling disappeared?"

   Of course he did. An experience such as that was going to be difficult to not remember at the most inconvenient of times, nor the feelings that followed. He nodded with some hesitance, but Hannibal was quick to wash that away. "Is that what I'm suppose to do?"

   The grin Hannibal was displaying widened; he was terribly thankful that Will wasn't looking at him in that moment, for Hannibal looked far too pleased. "Have you ever touched yourself, Will?"

   He felt stupid for doing so, but he shook his head. "No. You're the first person that has touched me like... like that."

   God, Hannibal couldn't have felt any better. It was so obvious as he had watched Will come undone but it created a different eruption within him to hear it spoken. Will had never been fucked before, certainly not like that. He had never experienced anything like it. Hannibal doubted Will had even thought of sex before, if not in a negative light. Hannibal had truly been his first for everything. The first to pick his ripened fruit from the branch and bite into it, with all its deliciousness reserved just for him. Hannibal hummed, the sound rumbling in his chest. "Do you remember what you were dreaming about?" He asked. Hannibal opted for tapping that same area, seeing if any change of glorious pressure would draw a different reaction. It did, because Will's eyelids fell shut.

   "You." He stated it simply, no sugar or clear emotion lacing it.

   Hannibal leaned down. His lips brushed the boy's neck, nose nudging the child's head back. Will complied. "You scared me for a matter there. I thought I was hurting you."

   The next breath that issued from Will was shaky. "I zoned out, I guess. I'm sorry."

   Hannibal breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent of vanilla and sweat mixed with his own fading scent of tobacco. It smelled terrible and didn't taste any better; truth be told, Hannibal couldn't give an exact explanation as to why he pulled out a cigarette the few times he would be caught doing so. Perhaps there was an impulse that he never registered. But there was another impulse there, too, to take Will to the edge of ecstasy again. "What did you think about?" Hannibal asked, the question tumbling from his lips ever so softly.

   The kiss he pressed there was just as soft, just as tender and caring. Will considered lying. He hated to explain it, even when he merely tried to explain it in his own head. He feared his explanation wouldn't make any more sense and that it would only confuse furthermore. Most of all, he feared explaining it would spiral into that exact fit again. "I..." Hannibal's lips were there, though, against his neck, peppering in the ghost of kisses and offering encouragement. If Will was to fall into it again, Hannibal would be there to draw him back. He had nothing to fear. "I thought about my mother. She explained it to me once, what sex was. She said it was painful at first, but that it felt good after. I didn't care then. I was thirteen, I think. It was the one conversation she had with me that was meant to be an education. She never talked about staying away from drugs or alcohol. I learned from her example." Will turned suddenly. His nose burrowed in the coarse hair of Hannibal's chest, just as silver as the hair upon his head, if not more. "She was in the back room going at it with some dude all the time. I never cared if I had her attention, but it bothered me that it was all she cared about."

   "It isn't a shameful thing, Will, to want attention." Hannibal's palm was hot against his side, running the length of it repeatedly. "It is in human nature to want to be apart. Living alone is never fulfilling. Interaction is necessary, and you lacked that with your mother."

   "I hated the very idea of sex. I thought it did that to everyone, made them so obsessed over it that they forgot everything else. Then I thought about how I had begged for it, and I started to wonder if that's what I was going to turn into."

   "You're a teenage boy," Hannibal consoled, "intimate desires are expected. It would be unhealthy for you to have no desire for it." His hand stopped at the boy's shoulder blades and traced the outline of the bones to commit them to memory. "As for begging, why not? I won't tell you I didn't enjoy it, for that would be a lie. Your mother is a sex addict, Will. There is a difference between wanting intimacy and needing it."

    _Is_. Will couldn't bother with correcting him. His mother was dead. "I did need it," he admitted.

   Hannibal closed his fist inside the tangle of William's hair, but he didn't pull the boy away, nor force him closer. "William, I need you to believe every word I say. You are nothing like Viola Graham. I will not lie and say that her habits have not affected you, because they have, but not in the way you fear. Her wrongs have given you a healthy fear. Just because she was the one who birthed you does not mean you are an exact replica of her personality or physical imbalances. Do not worry over what she has done. Viola is not apart of your life."

    _Viola is not apart of your life_. Hannibal said it so easily, as if it were an actual fact. Could his mother truly never be apart of him, when she was so very much apart of him? It didn't make sense, but Will was too tired to argue the concept. "Will you teach me Lithuanian?" He asked. It was abrupt and drifting the topic completely away from Viola Graham and her faults, which was the boy's inward goal. The thought of his mother was draining.

   Hannibal nodded, regardless of the question being so sudden. "Why do you want to know? Its uncommon, nor is it a particularly beautiful language. Most want to learn French, or Spanish if the aim is practicality."

   "You speak it." Will stated it as if it was all the reasoning needed to be given, and it was.

   Hannibal felt the yawn, as well as the fight Will put up to ward it off; but it was inevitable, and Hannibal was urging sleep to overtake the child with careful caresses. "Eik miegoti, mano meilė."

   Exhaustion was catching up, but Will refused to allow it to grip him so soon. "What does that mean?"

   "Go to sleep, my love."

   If he was awake enough, Will would have smiled. Hannibal was warm, smelling like the aroma Will had always associated with comfort, and running his lovely hands up and down Will's naked skin. It made fending off sleep seem so childish, no matter how much Will enjoyed hearing Hannibal talk.

   It was easier, then, to fall asleep in the arms he could trust.


	11. Remembrance

   Viola Graham was hard to ignore thereafter.

   She intruded Will's dreams in false pretenses. She opened her arms to him, welcomed him with a kiss on his head, inhaling the scent that Hannibal Lecter had practically impregnated him with. Lavender, wood, and the faintest tint of tobacco. He felt her hands around him, wrapping him in something cold and unforgiving that he still found himself being pulled into with a greedy selfish desire to earn his mother's nonexistent love. He had whispered useless apologies, caught his mother's burning tears. She had said it was alright, that there was nothing he could do now, that he needn't worry about what could have been but was not. Will did not admit that he hardly thought about his mother at all, nor that he had despised her so righteously that it created a vigorous, burning desire to be everything that she was not. He did not tell her about Hannibal, most of all. Neglected the fact that he loved the man for all that he was, though he had been the one to put a bullet through Viola Graham's skull, through her twisted head. He did not admit that he was so beyond thankful to have been swept away, and did not tell her how well he was being treated. Because that would have never made Viola happy. She wanted him buried in the ground with her, to be as sad and as fucked as she was.

   He woke up missing her.

   He woke up without Hannibal, at the crack of dawn when the sun was still rising and there was hardly a breeze to be felt.

   He had been crying. Heated cheeks, wet pillow, tangled sheets.

   He went to find Hannibal because that was who had ended his misery in the first place.

   It was relatively easy to find him, for all of their room was dark but for a room full of light being cast down on the wooden floors. Will followed it, bare feet padding in unsteady steps as sleep was still heavy in his eyes. His shoulder hit the door frame as he entered, fists rubbing his eyes in a most agitated way. Hannibal would have associated it with a child, with the way the corner of his small and dainty fist rubbed and rubbed until his heavy lids were not any more willing to cooperatively rise. The boy's lips were dry, his throat hoarse and unused. Still, in the sharp light the bathroom provided and in his dearly drowsy state, it was impossible to not love him.

   "What has you up so early, darling?"

   It was the voice who had given him much of his comfort. Hannibal sounded awake, even smiling when he saw his boy dragging himself around just to find him. Will didn't provide an immediate answer, but trudged to the edge of the tub and collapsed there, chin resting on the edge of marble. The bathroom tile was dreadfully cold beneath his naked frame, but he did not speak of it and did not make an effort to move somewhere warm and welcoming. The bathroom floor seemed as good a place as any.

   "What time is it?" Will asked in return, eyelids falling shut as it required too much effort to try to fend it off. He felt something wet drip down his cheek in a single droplet, and it was Hannibal's hand reaching for his hair. Hannibal always played with his curls - twisted them, watched them kink when his hair was drying.

   "Somewhere around six," Hannibal hummed. He sounded too cheery for it to be _that_ early. "But, again, why are you up and about? I expected you to wake at nine, perhaps ten considering last night. You must be exhausted."

   Will nodded solemnly. He considered retreating back to the bed, knowing how ridiculously early he had risen, but his limbs felt too exhausted to try exerting any strength at all. "I don't know..." He mumbled, lips hardly parting to utter the answer. "I was dreaming 'n then I was awake."

   Hannibal tried to conceal his amusement; Will had some of the most entertaining explanations to give. However, when the boy's head lulled to the side and his face was not hidden by such dark shadows, he was more alarmed than amused. His hand dropped from the boy's head. "Have you been crying, Will?" Will could feel the familiar burn of his scarred hands cupping his face, thumbs swiping away whatever tears still remained in chilling streaks.

   "I think so." Will smiled rather weakly. "Though, I can't remember why."

   He could, of course, but it was the details Hannibal did not need to know.

   Hannibal's breath puffed against his face. It smelled of mint and coffee, a combination that was what Will associated with the morning. Black coffee and freshly brushed teeth; though, if it were Will, it would not be in that order. "You're quite useless in the morning, you know." Hannibal pulled, trapped his arm beneath the child's particularly heavy frame. "If I didn't know any better, I would assume you were drunk."

   Will heard the splash first and felt the water second. It rose to his neck, filled his left ear when he found Hannibal's chest beneath his head. He was soft and warm - as naked as Will, but also as shamelessly careless of the fact. The water was warm and inviting; so warm, in fact, that it stung in the slightest. Will breathed a sound of content. "I could use some of that awful wine." He yawned, almost laughed when he felt the silver hair adorning Hannibal's chest to be tickling his cheek. "Or just... anything."

   Hannibal shook his head. He could see how the day would progress if he was unable to sway the boy's mind to happier thoughts. He knew not to press on issues that were not given when first presented, so Hannibal opted for continuing reading his novel, _The Lady and the Unicorn,_ although the history of art and ancient tapestries was not truly on his mind. "I believe you would benefit more from a morning of restful sleep."

   The boy shook his head in disdain. "I can't sleep when you're not there, and you can't be there. I would only roll around and beg for death."

   It went unseen, but Hannibal nearly rolled his eyes. "You are rather dramatic, Will."

   He yawned a second time, one that lasted longer and brought tears stinging his eyes. "I'm not dramatic, just... very truthful." He argued though he did not offer much of a fight. He was well aware of his morning personality. "And very sore." This was said with more feigned remorse, and Hannibal's chest shook with a dry chuckle. "Really. My ass feels like its been torn open, and my fucking-"

   "Language, Will." It was a warning, one said loosely though it held much meaning. "There's a bar of soap an inch away from my reach."

   Will was very glad Hannibal couldn't see him roll his eyes, or as best as he could. "You didn't mind while your cock was buried in my ass," he grumbled, "or after my pants were on the floor, for that matter-"

   Hannibal's book closed. It hit the bathroom floor with a gentle slap. Traveling was one of the few occasions in which Hannibal missed his bathtub tray, where he could place his novels and his coffee in the mornings when he bathed. It was quite unsanitary to just toss it, but he was not left with much of a choice. "Nor were you half as agitated while my cock was making yours so very impatient."

   If Hannibal could feel Will's cheeks absolutely burning, it was not mentioned. "Touch'e..." Sensing his own defeat, Will was eager to direct conversation elsewhere. More so he didn't feel that same discomfort again, and so Hannibal wouldn't need to feel Will poking at his thigh. That would make for some interesting conversation, indeed. "Will you teach me more in your language?" He asked, his voice filled with an eagerness that was not difficult to distinguish.

   "I speak many dialects, Will."

   Will burrowed further into the nook between Hannibal's neck and shoulder. The skin was damp there and not nearly as covered in bubbles as Will would have been had he prepared the bath. "What languages do you know?"

   "Lithuanian is my native tongue. I am fluent in Russian, German, Romanian, French, Spanish, and Chinese. Italian, as well, but I've just begun studying it."

   The water moved with Will's shift. His hand traveled to Hannibal's stomach, fingers tracing the lines of his hips. "French and Italian are considered the most beautiful languages in the world," he mumbled, his tone mindlessly quiet as he was focused elsewhere. "I only know Spanish, because that's the only other option that high-schools give besides sign language."

   "Why did you choose Spanish?" Hannibal took Will's wrist into his hold and drew the boy's hand from the water, lips pressing delicate kisses along the child's milky-white knuckles. "Sign language would have suited you. You have such beautiful hands." Will could see the smile trying to pull at the older man's lips, but he was too occupied with trying to hide the blush creeping up his neck to comment on it. "Slim like a cellist's hands. Long fingers that would make those higher notes sound like the voice of a god."

   "I... I wanted to be in the smaller class," Will said around a swallow. "There was this girl." Hannibal raised a brow as if in questioning. Will was quick to shake his head. "All the boys thought she was... Well, they wanted to get in her pants. But she was deaf. They wanted to learn how to communicate with her." Hannibal's lips skidded over the single scar that stretched across the first knuckle of William's thumb. "There was only a dozen people in the Spanish class - until she left, anyway."

   "Why did she leave?" Hannibal's voice was like silk, rough and endearing as always but practically drunk as he admired the boy's hands. Palms, knuckles, dainty fingers, to his thin wrists.

   Will watched so intently that it took him a moment to register that the question had been asked. "One of them got her pregnant."

   Hannibal stopped, just for a moment, to hinder himself from breathing a laugh. The foolishness of the youth was always amusing. "Curious..." He muttered, a particularly fat droplet of water dripping down his chin. "Was she so appalling that you did not join the class with them?"

   The boy's head shook. "No, I... had a crush."

   "Not on her, certainly."

   Will's exhale of hot breath shuttered. "The man.. the one that got her pregnant."

   Hannibal was truly entertained now. "Man?" He questioned. He released his hold and Will's hand slipped to his chest, fingers sliding through silver hair as he made the move to retreat, though he thought better of it the moment later. "Should I assume that I am no longer to be imagining a group of young little boys?"

   "The teacher." Will tensed around the word, simply by how wrong it felt to say it. "He got her - he did it."

   It couldn't have gotten any better; it simply could not. Hannibal was torn on whether to feel amused, delighted, rightfully ashamed, or apologetic towards the child. "I am left to believe, then, that it was not just the crowd that kept you from joining the class." He was not harsh in saying it. No, he stroked the boy's face. Water collected in Will's dark lashes, made it look like a tear had skidded down his flushed cheek when he blinked it away. "What was he like?"

   "He had an accent. Russian, I think. It drove me mad whenever he would say my name. He didn't use Will like everyone else. He called me Mr. Graham, William if he was talking to only me." Will shifted. He could feel Hannibal's leg move beneath the water, draw up until his knee broke through the water.

   "Mad?" Hannibal repeated, something playing on his lips. "Did it give you a stomach ache?"

   Will knew what that implied. "No!" He said it rather too quickly, too loudly. "No. When I found out about what he did, he wasn't any better than the rest. He just wanted to be between her thighs, like all the rest of the boys in his sign language class."

   Hannibal nodded in understanding. Will was a complex child, but this was not hard to decipher. "You wanted a man, not a boy."

   "I didn't want him," Will corrected, "Having a childish crush and wanting are different. I _want_ you. I know I do because you give me stomach aches and make me feel all... all hot. I only wanted to impress him. He was nice to look at, that was all."

   The water was getting cold, Hannibal noticed. He did nothing about it but reached for the complimentary bottle of shampoo the hotel provided during their stay. It looked like milk as it pooled in his palm or something more unappealing to think about. "Am I not nice to look at?"

   Will was on his knees. Hannibal's leg was trapped between his thighs. "You know the answer to that." He caught the look Hannibal was giving - something that lay between disbelief and amusement. "Don't play stupid. You know I love to look at you."

   The corner of his mouth turned up. "As much as I do love to hear the reassurance, I know. How else could I have gotten you so beautifully riled up?" His shampoo-lathered hands ran through Will's hair, much to the boy's protest.

   Will was quick to give up, though. As much as it annoyed him that Hannibal was almost constantly playing with his hair and admiring his curls, he loved the feel of the pull between Hannibal's thick and scarred fingers. "You have a weird idea of beautiful."

   Was it the fact that Will refused to accept the compliment, or that it embarrassed him? Hannibal assumed both. "If you had seen what I did, you would have thought it was beautiful." Hannibal scratched at the child's scalp, which earned him a most endearing purr. "You were absolutely glistening. Hot, too. Nearly burning. The faces you made, Will... I wouldn't have needed any contact if I was able to just watch you." He heard Will gasp as he pulled the boy back - spine against his chest, hands still lathering shampoo through soft dark curls. "I will have a most difficult day, I fear. It will be impossible to keep those images out of my head."

   "Well, if you need reality at any point..." He was nervous in making the suggestion, but it tumbled from his lips faster than he could register it. "I mean-"

   Hannibal laughed. Will could feel it against his spine. "Yes, if you are not in so much pain later."

   If it was possible, Will was blushing more. "It didn't - I might have exaggerated a little." He gulped, sensibility caught in his throat. "It doesn't hurt that badly."

   Hannibal knew, of course, where Will was leading. "As much as I appreciate the immediate offer," Hannibal hummed, "I'm afraid my attention will be needed elsewhere very soon." It amazed him how the teenage metabolism worked, and it made him wonder if he would always be able to keep up. No, age would catch up. Not today, not tomorrow, and certainly not anytime soon if he could help it. "Inner conspiracies are never pleasant or quick to deal with."

   Will's brow furrowed. "Inner conspiracies?" He questioned, head tipping back as Hannibal's grip guided him to do so. "How long are going to be gone?"

   "Oh, I won't be any longer than I can help." With his hand cupped, Hannibal collected the water from the tub and poured it over William's soapy curls. However, he was careful to not allow the soap to get in the boy's bright blue eyes. "I will still be on the premise if you are in need of me. Beverly will be at the door. If you need me - and I say _need -_ Beverly knows where I am. I don't want you going out to find me. Am I understood?"

    _Am I understood?_ It made him feel like a child. Will nodded begrudgingly, air huffing from his lungs. "What will you be doing?" He pressed on the subject, though he knew better than to ask what Hannibal did. He had a brief idea of what Hannibal's business was, due to his mother's involvement, but nothing more. Viola had owed him money. "Do you have to collect again? You always say that won't take you long, but it takes you hours. I won't wait hours, Hannibal."

   It was humorous to think a child believed he could boss him around. "I control my own time, Will." The boy slouched, shoulders sinking. "That being said," Hannibal continued, "does not mean I don't try my hardest to spare as many hours as I can. You must understand that people do not give what they owe so easily. It takes persuasion-"

   "And a gun."

   The breath that hit Will's neck was deeper, bordering on impatience. "Yes, it might take the threat of a gun. If I could spare every second of every day, you know I would. Work is work, Will. I work to provide and spoil you. Are you not grateful for that?"

   Will turned in Hannibal's hold, the man's grip twisting with it and pulling at his hair. Will would not be distracted, nor would he make the mistake of creating a feeling of doubt within Hannibal ever again. "No, I do. I am grateful. I just feel like I don't get the chance to repay you because you can't be here. You have to be gone, I know. And it's selfish and stupid but I never want you gone."

   "You repay me by simply being here," Hannibal muttered it with as much truthfulness as he could muster. He didn't need Will to provide anything but a smile, not even that. There was nothing to repay. "I want to do everything that I have done for you, Will. Every dollar and every penny spent, whether past or present or to be spent in the future. I don't want you to ever feel like you must do anything in return. Do you understand?"

    _Do you understand?_ It didn't sound so convicting this time.

   "Just promise me you'll be back before dinner. I want to see the Eiffel Tower up close."

   "I'll take you to the top. Just you and I."

   It seemed like a promise that wouldn't be kept, but Will nodded regardless.

* * *

    The bathtub was still occupied, even after Hannibal had left to do whatever it was that required his attention. The water was barren of any warmth, cold engulfing his limbs most unpleasantly. Will hadn't found the energy to continue with his day, which firstly included dressing and trying to make himself presentable, in the least. When he did force himself to retreat to the bedroom, he was shivering and dressed only in the pink shirt Hannibal had worn the day before because he was far too lazy to search for something of his own and anything that had been washed. It smelled of the man, fit him loosely, and brought the blue in his eyes out to pop like an azurite jewel. His mass of dark curls was unkempt, his cheeks coloring when he wrapped himself in the warmth of the duvet to retain the comfort he had lost and wouldn't gain until hours later when Hannibal returned to keep his promise. If he did, that is. Though Hannibal might try his hardest, the occasional small detail did pass his mind. He had promised weeks ago to take Will shopping; the boy hadn't gotten terribly upset over forgetting the aspect, but it had been an excuse to spend time with him.

   Now, he needn't think of any and every excuse to have Hannibal's attention. If Hannibal were not so busy, Will doubted there would be a moment of peace. He tried to imagine it - what it would be like to constantly have Hannibal's hands, so big and scarred, wrapped around whatever the man pleased and however long he wanted. It seemed like a faraway dream now, in the seclusion Hannibal's absence provided, but it settled his mind to think of the scenarios and the conversations they would have. Art, Literature, and Lithuania. The idea sounded so pleasing, enough that it created a pang of dread that it would never be so. Work would always keep Hannibal, and Will would simply have to learn how to adjust.

   He had lived his life alone, without attention and support, so why was it so hard now? Viola had never made such useless promises, but Hannibal had.

   Will tossed on to his side. He must think of a way to make Hannibal want to stay, to disregard whatever was more important to care for him. It sounded so selfish to think of it in that way, but Will desired to have Hannibal there as much as he could more than anything in the world. There was a sense of freedom in thinking in such a way now, given the night of intimacy they shared, but guilt was still wrapped heavily around the brutal idea.

   Still, Will promised to himself that he would carry through. He needn't live in neglect, and he wouldn't allow himself to be forgotten again.

   Will untangled himself from the mass of blankets he had been collecting, limbs stretching like a drowsy cat. The wooden floor was cold beneath his bare feet, but he padded across the expanse of the room to retrieve himself a glass of water. It was lukewarm and from hours before, but his throat welcomed the hydration regardless of temperature.

   Hannibal would be happy if he did it, in the end at least.

   Or would it anger him?

   Will shook his head. He would only know if he tried, and he sensed that it would not take long for the opportunity to present itself. Then, he was reminded of the date.

   "Will?"

   The boy turned. Beverly stood in the doorway, her hand clasped around the hilt of the gun tucked in a sheath. Upon seeing him, her hand retreated back to the door handle.

   "Is something wrong?" He asked, his tone rising in pitch though he had not meant for it to sound so worried. "Is Hannibal-"

   "He asked me to check up on you," Beverly interjected. "He's fine. Just... busy."

   "When is he not." It was a grumble, a bitterly mumbled complaint.

   Beverly caught it, of course. She was well aware of the separation issues shared between them. Her only trouble was not being able to fully sympathize. "I have a message to pass along. Mr. Lecter would like you dressed and expecting a visitor within the next hour. He should be back by then."

   The empty glass clicked against the marble countertop. "What is he doing?" Will asked, skepticism clearly written on his face. "If you don't tell me, I'll find out myself."

   Beverly's lips turned up into a humored smile, despite the circumstances. "He's taking care of an issue. One that annoyed everybody, really. I was told to not give you specifics if you asked." She paused, leaned against the counter just near the door that Will was standing on the other side of. "I was also told to inform the dear old boss if you threatened me to tell you."

   Will cleared his throat. "Well, it looks like you'll have to choose between being a good friend or a good employee."

   Her grin widened. "Mr. Lecter has the means to kill me. Is it really so hard to choose?"

   "I could too, you know."

   "You're a harmless little thing, Will."

   He grumbled at that. Then, Beverly's expression changed. Her smile morphed from amused to surprised, hands gripping the edge of the counter as she leaned for a better look. Will was becoming dreadfully aware of what she was ogling at. How could she not notice? It had, in fact, surprised him that it had taken her so long to notice.

   "Are those... _hickeys_?"

   Any hope that she wouldn't mention the discovery was abandoned.

   "Well..." The room felt hot. Burning. Seering his cheeks. "Yes?"

   Beverly laughed. It was filled with soul and sounded loud against the empty room. It didn't help Will feel any less embarrassed. "Jesus. I thought I was seeing things when I saw them on the boss." It only amused her furthermore when she saw the look of horror spreading across Will's face. "Did you two go at it, then?"

   He wanted to curl up underneath whatever was nearest and hide. Perhaps act like he didn't exist at all because nothing had ever been so embarrassing before. "What does 'going at it' imply, exactly?" He sounded terribly frail underneath all the layers of embarrassment.

   " _Fuck_ ," Beverly corrected. "Did you two fuck?"

   He truly wanted to die now.

   His silence was an answer in itself, and Beverly couldn't have smiled any wider.

   To his great luck, the door opened behind Beverly. Matis beckoned her with a simple bark of her name and she was backing through the doorway. "I can't believe it," she called. "Though I really can. Pinning can't always stay pinning, can it?"

   The door slammed shut and Will could breathe.

   Had he ever been that embarrassed before? Absolutely not. But to know that Hannibal had worn Will's little gifts with utmost pride was beyond gratifying. It was also amusing in the slightest that Hannibal had known Will wouldn't dress in proper attire, and that he was hopelessly missing him. He was thankful, in any case, that Hannibal had sent Beverly rather than any of his other men. To have them address the purple bruises would have been far more mortifying. Will would have only stuttered and burned as red as the fires of Hell. It had been bad enough with Beverly, who he was undoubtedly comfortable with. The men would have poked fun at the prospect. His nickname would have merged from 'little pup' to 'fuck toy,' or anything of the sort. Something worse if they were conversing in Lithuanian. Will could hardly imagine, nor did he want to.

   He had his plan, though. A devious scheme. It was working out well in that he was given an opportunity so soon. He need only gain the confidence once more to carry through with it; otherwise, he might look like a fool trying to helplessly attempt at it. This would need confidence, strive, and a certain fearlessness to carry through with. Will often did not possess either of the three when it pertained to such a sensitive subject as this, but he wanted Hannibal's attention. Wanted hardly covered it. Needed sounded too much like a plea. No, he would not be begging to receive Hannibal's affection. He would earn it. No, _Hannibal_ would earn Will's attention. That was how this was going to change. Will would not be the desperate puppy begging to have Hannibal's hands on him. Hannibal would be pleading to be given the honor of it.

   It was most mischevious and devious, indeed. And Hannibal would certainly hate him for it.

* * *

   Men were bustling around in an undignified way. Hannibal's men were scattered throughout the halls, hands itching and nervous and too close to their guns. Hannibal was as cool as ever; calm, collected, composed. The gun he carried was tucked beneath the concealment of his blazer, unused since his encounter with Viola Graham. He was ready for whenever the opportunity should present itself, as he feared it might today. The same visitor from Christmas day was to return and hopefully with the news Hannibal was wanting to hear.

   Otherwise, dear Anthony might not live to steal another painting. Not that the prospect sounded so terrible.

   "Keep all fire exits blocked." Hannibal had been giving direct commands for a small amount of time. The fact that Anthony refused to meet at any public place was frustrating and prickling at Hannibal's every nerve. There was less of a chance of threats being carried through if there was a large group of people crowded around, more so if law enforcement were unknowingly lurking. The privacy that the hotel provided was unnerving and dangerous. Drawing a gun wouldn't be a bother here. Anyone could mistake a silenced gunshot as the thud of furniture. "None of his men come through these doors but for the few escorting him in. Every weapon is confiscated. Not a single one of his men enter the top floor. Understood?" There was a resounding mumble of acknowledgments. "I want this meeting secure."

   Matis was standing inches from his boss, hands fumbling with the handful of bullets he was loading into the pistol one by one. "What of the boy?" He asked, his accent not nearly as thick as it normally would have been. He pinned the reason on excitement.

   "He stays with me."

   Matis nodded, though he was not sure of the safety such a plan provided. "If things go south, what are we to do with him?"

   " _He stays with me_ ," Hannibal reiterated, tone sterner and finalizing. "He'll be better protected with an unarmed man and one who is armed and on his side, than a floor full of agitated men. If things do unravel messily, he will be taking the balcony as an escape route. Beverly has a ladder from maintenance at the ready, should we need it. Worry for him before you worry of me."

   "It isn't you I worry about." Matis said it delicately, a certain reverence hiding behind the look he gave his higher authority. "I know you can protect yourself. Do you remember Bucharest?"

   "Bucharest." He smiled at the memory, of the blood and gore of tearing down the only massive organization that had ever stood in his way and posed any real threat. Matis had been there all along, acting as Hannibal's second set of hands. It was a bloody summer that was never to be forgotten and always shared as the fondness of memories. "A lovely couple of months, wasn't it?"

   Matis' mouth split into a smile similar to the one twitching at the corner of Hannibal's mouth. "The ladies were wonderful. Big bottoms, those beautiful accents. It's always good to find a girl who can smoke bitter cigars and party hard."

   Hannibal hummed. At another time, before Will, he might have been interested in recalling such memories. Girls in his lap, the commonwealth containing elaborate seventy-one ingredients perfected into one marvelous glass of sweet alcohol. Lips on his neck, cigar burning. His favorite suit with his favorite employees being treated by his side. Bucharest had been truly wonderful in the freedoms it provided. Alas, he enjoyed different freedoms now. Sixteen-year-old boys with perky bottoms and an overwhelming attitude. One who was, undoubtedly, impatiently waiting for him.

   "Perhaps we'll visit the club again when business in Paris is finished and the loop has settled down." Hannibal could see the way Matis' shoulders straightened. "Let us not get carried away. You have gotten yourself a wife and a child since then, and I a child as well."

   Matis' face fell, but he nodded in understanding. "I suppose it would be unloyal of me to have a girl on my lap for a couple hours, eh?"

   " _Kalė paliko automobilį!_ "

   The announcement came through Matis' radio. "Into positions!" He yelled, and the sound of guns cocking rang throughout the hall.

   Hannibal understood that to be his cue. "Be sure to check our guest before he enters. Make it a thorough search." Hannibal checked his tie, fingers fumbling with the loosened knot. "I suspect he'll be wanting to repay the gift I gave him during his last visit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Kalė paliko automobilį!  
> \- The bitch left the car!


	13. Update (Not a chapter)

Deepest apologies for not updating this for over a full month. I was very busy with my education, which obviously took first priority. In that time I was able to reflect on my writing and realize just how downhill it went from the third chapter and onward. I have made the decision to discontinue this work and rework it into a fic I will put more time and effort into in order to create a, at least, similar portrayal to NBC Hannibal characters. Of course, this is a work of complete fiction and does not correlate with Bryan Fuller's spin on the storyline, so things were bound to be different. However, I realize how terribly off my portrayals were and it bothered me. I will be changing this new reworking up from the original storyline. I don't believe I will be centering Will's character and his upbringing around his diagnosis of autism. I can't do that justice, no matter how much I research and partake the behaviors of my sister (who I have been an anchor for the last decade of her life). I myself am not autistic and feel that no matter how hard I try, I simply will only be butchering it. Autism was, in no way, romanticized. Hannibal was not going to fall in love with Will because he has a "thing" for illnesses. It was going to be about helping him through every day struggles an autistic person faces, along with the consequences of Hannibal's actions that would, in the end, be inflicted on Will as well. I strayed far from my original plot, even though I did have the entirety of it extensively outlined on paper. I will pinpoint it on lack of time because that certainly did play a part in it. I was rushing to fit chapters in so you all wouldn't have to wait a month at a time for me to write something decent.  
However, as things have not fallen through as I would wish and I am left with too much time on my hands, I am restarting this work.  
I hope you all will stick around for a more thoroughly written version.  
Much love.


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